


Breaking Ice

by jailikechai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Lots of bad puns, M/M, Not Werewolves, Wolves, just plain old canines, lots of winter, not a/b/o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jailikechai/pseuds/jailikechai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was just trying to save a child from danger. The first time it happened, he woke up in a place he had only heard about in the oldest legends. The second time, he woke up next to a man with the greenest eyes, and the most terrible jokes, and the warmest smile. His world turned upside down, Castiel must defy nature itself to rescue the man from the demons who hold him captive.</p><p>This is a Fairy Tale.<br/>This is the story of a brave warrior who rescues a handsome prince from evil monsters.</p><p>There are also wolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a nature documentary. In fact, this could alternatively be titled "how to inaccurately portray natural phenomenon for literary purposes".

Once upon a time, there was a forest where it was always winter. The trees of the forest were so tall their tops seemed to brush the clouds, and the forest was so wide it seemed as endless as an ocean. Cool winds blew flurries of snow through the forest, soft piles of snow drifted up the bases of the trees, and when the sun shone it was like the whole forest was coated in the glittering dust of diamonds.

In the forest lived all kinds of birds and beasts. There were tiny chipmunks, chasing each other up and down the gnarled bark of the old trees, and majestic elk, with their wide antlers and steady hooves, forging pathways through the winter snow. There were even a few humans, but they were new, and small, and unsure of how to live in the cold and the snow. They huddled around tiny fires and stubbornly defied the dark chill of the endless winter.

But above all else, the Red Wolves lived in the forest. The wolves stood as tall as a man, with thick red fur to protect them from the cold, and wide, soft feet to keep them from sinking in the snow, and shrewd yellow eyes that saw all that went on in the whole forest. The wise old wolves had guarded the forest for as long as time. They watched over all the other animals, from the tiny robins huddling in their cozy nests, to the clever foxes playing in the fresh fallen snow, and they watched over all the plants and trees, from the tallest pine to the sturdiest blade of stubborn grass poking through the frost.

At the edge of the forest there was a river. The river would have been a wide, rushing, raging thing, filled with wild currents and white peaks as it slid around the jagged rocks of the river bed, but eternal winter froze the river from bank to bank. If you listened close, you could hear the water flowing, powerful and persistent, beneath the thick crust of ice, but the surface remained solid, still, and silent.

Once upon a time there was a forest where it was always winter, until, one day, a Warrior appeared. The Warrior broke the ice over the river and brought the first spring to the forest.

Castiel had heard the old fairytale a hundred times. Everyone who grew up in the tiny town at the edge of the great forest had heard it a hundred times. It was the first story told to newborn babes as they were rocked to sleep, the Warrior who broke the ice to bring the spring. Castiel’s favorite part was the end, after the Warrior made the pact with the Red Wolves, when the Wolves taught the humans how to survive in the forest. He liked the idea that humans could learn a thing or two from wolves. When he was small, Castiel would curl up in the den, his arms wrapped around the furry body of a sleeping wolf, and he would ask his father to tell him the story, smiling and breathing in deep the scent of pine and wolf as his voice spun images in his head. There was nowhere he would rather be.

In town, the boys and girls never bothered to learn Castiel’s odd name, only calling him “wolf boy” when they taunted his strange mannerisms and wolf-like habits. Castiel met every insult with stoic silence that earned him an even stranger reputation. In town, Castiel was a freak and an outcast. But in the den, he was safe and warm and comfortable. The wolves were his brothers and sisters, and they were always careful of their claws and fangs when they played together. Castiel’s father would laugh when he returned to the den to find his son wrestling and arguing with Balthazar, the half-grown wolf pup whining and growling in response as if they were truly conversing. With the pack, Castiel was free to be himself. If he ever felt a little lonely with no one who could talk back to him, Castiel never complained.

No matter how many sharp insults Castiel had to endure, no one ever insulted the wolves. The King’s wolves were said to be descendants of the First Pack. The wolves were not as tall as a man, like the legends said, but their shoulders stood even with Castiel’s chest, larger than any other wolf could grow. Their fur was rusty red, with just a dusting of grey under their chins and down their legs. The wolves mostly kept to themselves, sharing Castiel’s preference for the cool, dark forest instead of the bright, bustling town.

But not tonight. Castiel was the keeper of the King’s wolves, and tonight was the biggest night of his life so far.

The annual Ice Breaking festival was a week-long celebration to honor the old story, people and wolves coming together to welcome the spring. The running of the wolves on the final night was a tradition, but tonight was the first time Castiel did not have his father by his side. The wolves would run free through the festival grounds, unsupervised and untamed, and Castiel prayed that nothing would go wrong. He trusted the wolves - he had not only trained them, he was raised alongside them as a brother - but they were so large and fierce and wild, and humans were so petty and ignorant. It was up to Castiel alone to make sure wolves and humans did no harm to each other. While Castiel always felt the aching sorrow of his father's death, tonight the pain of his absence was particularly sharp.

In the late afternoon sun, Castiel walked through the festival grounds spread out along the bank of the river. The brightly colored tents stretched all the way from the bridge to the town in a long, messy line, filling the narrow space between the edge of the trees and the edge of the water. Castiel tried to stay focused on any potential threats to his wolves as he inspected the layout of the various vendors of food, and crafts, and games. The few people already browsing through the tents ignored him, and he them. There was a wooden table that looked like ready to collapse at any moment - potentially dangerous for any wolves caught underneath. Castiel was gearing up to speak to a rather shifty-looking hotcakes seller when something heavy slammed into his left shoulder.

Castiel’s head snapped around, and his gaze fell on a boy trying to sidestep out of his notice. Castiel’s head cocked a little to the left and his eyes flicked down to the ball now lying at his feet as he put two and two together.

“Shit, it’s Wolf-man,” a voice muttered from behind him. Castiel’s jaw clenched, muscles in his face twitching, although his expression did not change.

“I thought it was customary for children your age to be in school at this time of day,” Castiel commented. The boy in front of him gave up trying to edge away and rolled his eyes dramatically.

“It’s the festival. Everybody ditches the last day of the festival,” the boy scoffed.

“Yeah, man, lighten up,” the voice from behind him called.

“C’mon, let’s go,” the culprit called to his companion, who scooped up the mis-thrown ball as he dashed past Castiel. Castiel huffed, rolling his shoulder, which was aching a little from the ball’s impact. The boy had quite an arm.

The hotcakes seller was eyeing him with a sneer when Castiel returned to his earlier goal of questioning the man.

“Geez, Wolf-man, can’t even give some harmless kids a break,” the vendor shook his head. “Guess what everyone says about you is true.”

Castiel blinks and takes a deep breath, turning away without another word and marching back towards the safety of the trees and the forest.

“It won’t always be so bad, you know,” a voice said from somewhere off to his right, stopping Castiel short.

Castiel looked around and found himself confronted by an old, old woman. The woman’s skin was dark as burnt caramel, fissured with deep lines that told a story of years filled with smiles and laughter, her hair was as glossy white as the thin layer of ice and snow that still coated the river, her golden eyes like sunlight filtering through amber. She held her thin, almost bony body straight, and though she was several inches shorter than Castiel, the man felt small in the old woman’s presence. The woman looked up at Castiel and smiled, her lips parting around white teeth that were only a little crooked, and the crinkles around the corners of her eyes folding and deepening as her smile lit up her eyes.

“I think it’s a little too late to hope for that,” Castiel mumbled, uncomfortable under the novelty of the undivided attention of another human being.

“It’s never too late to hope,” the old woman insisted. “It’s like the spring. Winter always seems to go on and on forever, and yet, here we are.”

“I’ve found people far less accommodating than nature.”

The woman nodded and hummed knowingly. “Perhaps you can change that.”

“People or nature?” Castiel’s voice was even, serious, but the old woman let out a pleased cackle.

“Perhaps both.” She lifted a wrinkled, boney hand and Castiel jumped back when he saw the woman was holding a knife. Castiel’s heart pounded as he eyed the sharp-edged silver knife, but the woman didn’t move, only stood there, holding the knife out between them, looking up at Castiel with a kind, almost excited smile.

“You will need this,” the woman said

“I - I really don’t think I do,” Castiel protested, holding up his hands and backing away from the point of the blade slowly. The old woman just shook her head, then leaned forward and grabbed Castiel’s wrist, lifted his hand, placed the handle of the knife in Castiel’s palm, and gently closed the man’s fingers around it

“You need this,” the woman insisted cryptically as she looked deep into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel blinked and closed his hand around the handle of the knife.

“Ok,” he said, something in him telling him it was probably best not to argue. The old woman smiled again, that broad, white smile that lit up her tawny eyes. She nodded once, firmly, and released her grip on Castiel’s hand, backing away a step before turning and disappearing into the festival.

Castiel shook his head and looked down at the knife. It was just a single, simple blade, but it was unlike any weapon he had ever seen, longer than a hunting knife, but too short to be considered a spear or a sword. It appeared to be constructed from one solid piece of shining silver metal, and the weight of it felt strangely familiar in his hand. Castiel mentally shrugged and tucked the knife into an inside pocket of his coat, designed to store a hunting knife, but unused until this moment. The sun was starting to sink low towards the horizon and it was time for him to get to work.

People started to gather around the tree line as the sun set. Castiel hung back between the trees, keeping an eye on the rowdiness of the crowd. The King told the story, always the same, of the winter forest, the giant wolves, the brave Warrior, and the coming spring. The crowd fell silent and solemn as the story was laid out before them. As the King’s words wound down and the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the fires of the festival as the only light to the night, Castiel gave a low whistle.

He could hear the pack respond, their broad paws rustling over the carpet of pine needles beneath the tall trees that surrounded the town walls. They left their den in the deep forest and made their way to the edge where the festival grounds were lit up, brightly colored tents, warm firelight, and throngs of people a stark contrast with the dark, solemn forest. The wolves pressed their sides up against Castiel, watching the gathered people calmly, but warily, from the helter of the trees. Castiel ran his hands through the thick, rust-colored fur of Michael, the pack’s alpha, and with that final reassurance, the wolves finally walked towards the silent crowd. The people parted to allow the wolves to pass and enter the festival grounds, and as the last bushy tail entered the narrow path the wound between the tents, the spell was broken and the celebration resumed in full force.

The wolves were the night’s honored guests and they trotted happily between the tents as vendors tried to tempt them to their stalls with various treats. Castiel spotted one young wolf, Anna, rolling lazily onto her side as a group of small children rubbed her down with gentle, adoring little hands. He laughed at a solemn looking man driven to fits of giggling as Gabriel bathed the man’s face with broad stripes of wet tongue. The wolves seemed relaxed and the people seemed respectful, and it was as good as Castiel could hope for. Castiel almost allowed himself to relax a little when he heard the sound he was dreading most - a low, keening howl of wolves. The howl was punctuated by a piercing scream and Castiel took off a top speed, jumping over a napping wolf pup and knocking aside a young man carrying a cup of some sort of hot liquid. he followed the sounds to the bridge.

The bridge was as old as the legends, an arch of stone that, when the river was unfrozen and racing along its watery course, was the only route from the forest on one side of the river to the fields on the other. The Red Tree stood as the solemn sentinel of the crossing, the only leafy tree in the evergreen forest, a large maple with broad, twisted branches and leaves the same rusty-red color as the wolves’ fur. The story said that it was at this very spot that the Warrior stood on the frozen river and gave the great blow that broke the ice for the first time, ending the eternal winter. Right now winter was ending on its own, and the ice that coated the river was deceptively solid, the wild rush of the rapids beneath easily audible.

Michael himself was splayed out on the slick stones of the bridge, his large head thrust between the columns along the side of the bridge, his sharp teeth sunk deep into the arm of a small boy, swinging precariously from the wolf’s jaws over the fragile ice of the river. A few wolves circled around their alpha, wanting to help, but unable, occasionally letting out those low, keening howls that begged for assistance. A small group of people was gathered at the foot of the bridge, huddled around a couple who were presumably the boy’s parents, their restless circling mirroring the movement of the wolves.

Castiel stalked straight towards the wolves, only half listening as the boy’s father rushed up to him with pleas and explanations of how his son was playing on the bridge, foolishly climbed onto the rail, and slipped in the slick snow, only to be caught by the wolf before tumbling into the river. The plea for help in the alpha wolf’s yellow eyes was as loud to him as the voice of the frantic father. One slip of teeth and the boy would plunge straight down into the icy current, the ice far too fragile to catch him.

Castiel brushed his hands comfortingly over the backs of the wolves as he hurried past them and leaned out over the rail of the bridge to try and grab the boy. Not quite far enough. He gripped the stone rail of the bridge, lightly dusted with a nice, slippery coat of snow, and pulled himself up. Someone shouted a protest at him, something about how he was doing the same thing that got them into this mess, but Castiel could actually reach the boy now, so he ignored the objections. With the help of the wolf still gripping the boy, Castiel managed to pull the boy onto the bridge.

He sat up on the rail and sighed with relief as the humans swarmed around the boy, and the wolves rushed to their alpha. Castiel was left alone at the rail of the bridge. Wolves and humans alike ignored his presence, but he still felt a please warmth that no one was getting hurt on his watch.

Castiel didn’t feel it when Raphael’s strong shoulder nudged his foot, but he did feel it when his hands scrambled for something to hold onto, only to slide off of snow slickened stone. Castiel was falling, his brain only absently registering the sensation. The bridge was above him, and the river was below him.

He was falling too slow, too far. Minutes passed, miles, centuries, lightyears. Then he felt his shoulder hit the ice, and he heard the ice crack. The cracking sound seemed to go on and on, and get louder and louder. Everything was cold and everything was dark.

~~

Castiel woke slowly, a little cold and a little damp, surrounded by the scent of pine and wolves. He must have fallen asleep in the den. He rubbed his left arm - his shoulder hurt. He opened his eyes and blinked in the fading light. He could see snow. So he wasn’t in the den, after all. Why was he laying outside in the snow? He rolled off his aching shoulder onto his back and looked up into enormous yellow eyes.

Castiel recoiled instinctively, and the giant wolf took a surprised step back. The wolf continued to look down curiously, her head tilted to see the man below her better. Castiel took deep breaths, trying to slow his wildly fluttering pulse and take stock of the situation. The wolf was at least as tall as Castiel, with paws as big as Castiel’s head, and though she wasn’t baring her teeth, Castiel bet her fangs were as large and sharp as the claws poking out from the rust-red fur of the wolf’s feet. That unusual tint of fur was distinctly familiar. Was this enormous wolf related to his pack somehow?

Castiel kept his eyes on the wolf as he sat up. There was ice underneath the thin coating of snow he sat on. That much ice meant he was on the river. A vague memory of his shoulder hitting the ice drifted into his mind, and he noticed a spider web of fine cracks radiating from the point of impact. He rubbed at the shoulder in question, wincing at the stab of pain that shot through the joint.

The wolf pushed her nose closer to Castiel, moving cautiously, making a conscious effort to appear non-aggressive. She sniffed gently and Castiel closed his eyes at the huff of breath over his face.

“Are you hurt?”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. He stared at the wolf, who stared back, unashamed. There’s no way Castiel heard what he thought he did. The wolf sighed gently and stepped closer, pushing Castiel’s shoulder gently with her nose, assessing for injury. Castiel let her, his brain still too muddled and confused to protest the canine ministrations.

“You poor thing,” the wolf muttered quietly. Castiel definitely heard that.

“Did you -” Castiel gulped “- did you just talk?”

The wolf sat back on her haunches abruptly, her tail hitting the ice in a thump that might have been comical in different circumstances. The wolf’s eyes blew as wide as the man’s.

“You can speak?” the wolf said in a low, warm, wondering voice. Castiel gulped again as the information that the wolf was actually talking to him slowly sank into his brain.

“I, uh,” Castiel stuttered. All his childhood fantasies about being able to talk to his fur-covered brothers and sisters did not prepare his for an actual conversation with a real live wolf. “Yes?”

The wolf sank down to lay on her belly, putting her head level with Castiel’s, staring unabashedly.

“That’s remarkable,” the wolf said, awe clear in her voice. “How did you learn the language of the wolves? I’ve never met a human from the forest who could speak it so well.”

“I’ve never met a wolf who could speak at all,” Castiel admitted, hoping he didn’t offend the wolf. The wolf blinked slowly and stared harder. Castiel fidgeted under the intense, golden gaze.

“Perhaps you are from a different forest?”

Castiel took a better look around, assessing his surroundings. He was on the river, a familiar, empty stretch of ice that curved slightly in the distance. And, yes, there was the Red Tree on the bank of the river, the unique twists of its branches arching high overhead. He definitely recognized his surroundings, but something was off, and his mind couldn’t quite pick out what.

“I don’t think so. This is definitely the river. I grew up just over there.” Castiel waved a hand towards the forest in the direction of the den. It was an accurate statement - he grew up in the den far more than he did the town that was further down, out of sight around the bend in the river. The wolf growled low in her throat, but it was a contemplative noise, not a threatening one. Castiel rubbed at his shoulder again, frowning at the persistent ache.

“Are you hurt?” the wolf repeated her earlier question.

“I believe I injured my shoulder when I fell off the bridge.” Castiel was a little concerned about the injury. He must have it the ice hard, it wasn’t a small distance between the bridge and the river.

The bridge.

Castiel whirled around and saw nothing but empty, snow-covered ice. Not a stone in sight. He looked back at the bank of the river to be sure, but there was the Red Tree, just where it had always been, its bare branches dusted with a light coating of snow, marking the end of the bridge. But there was no bridge.

The snow wasn’t right either. It was early spring, and the snow was beginning to melt. The tree should be covered with the tiny green nubs that would become buds, then leaves, not with snow. They shouldn’t even be able to stand on the ice, it was thin, the way it always was around the time of the Ice Breaking festival.

There was no festival on the bank of the river, and Castiel knew that if he walked down the edge of the river, there would be no town just around the bend.

Castiel turned his head slowly to look back at the giant wolf sitting next to him. The wolf gazed back with wise, worried yellow eyes.

Old words rang in Castiel’s head.

Once upon a time, there was a forest where it was always winter. In the forest lived all kinds of birds and beasts, but above all, the Red Wolves lived in the forest. They stood as tall as a man, and watched over all the living things in the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have kind of a love/hate relationship with winter. I am from a warm climate, but I lived in a very cold and snowy climate for years, and then returned to my nice warm homeland. I don't miss winter at all. (Sometimes I miss winter a little bit.)
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://jailikechai.tumblr.com)


	2. The Winter Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's a wolf! Not really, but sort of.

“Human? Human, are you all right?”

Dazedly, Castiel realized that the wolf was talking to him. A wolf. Talking. To him.

“Castiel,” Castiel said stupidly.

“Castiel?”

“My name. Castiel.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Castiel. I’m Mary.”

“I knew a girl named Mary. She always used to steal my left boot at school when we were kids, but she was scared of the wolves.” Castiel was surprised at how little he cared when he remembered that he might never see that Mary or any of the other townspeople again.

Mary the wolf shook her head at Castiel’s words, either missing or ignoring the notes of hysteria. “The wolves protect the forest. There is no need to fear us.”

“I know that,” Castiel said, his heart full of the truth of that statement. Mary regarded him quietly.

“Do you have other humans to go to?” 

Castiel had never had other humans, only his father and his pack.

“No.”

“It is dark,” Mary sighed, “and I cannot leave you here for the Wyrms. Come.”

Castiel glanced up at the sky, his senses returning after his shock, and realized that the sun had, in fact, set and it was fully dark. Mary turned towards the forest, and Castiel followed her, unwilling to spend the night outside in the dark, surrounded by this familiar yet unfamiliar forest. Besides, there was no need to fear wolves.

Castiel placed a hand on Mary’s shoulder when they entered the darkness beneath the trees, allowing himself to be guided by the wolf’s superior night vision. He barely needed the assistance, though, since this path was one he had walked practically every day of his life. They were headed for the den.

There were fewer trees, Castiel noticed, although he spotted a few short saplings in places where he remembered tall, broad pines. The tall rock that he had knocked over and shattered in a wrestling match with a wolf pup when he was seven - an incident which nearly crushed Raphael and earned him a severe scolding from his father and some rough paws to the head from Michael - was still there, hulking and covered in moss. The deep gouges in the tree left when the pack and Castiel’s father fended off an angry, rampaging moose before Castiel was even born were missing, the bark of the tree unbroken and branches unbent.

A few wolves, enormous as Mary, were lounging in the small clearing outside the den, some gossiping with each other, some lazily grooming, some curling up to sleep. It was a scene that looked so common and familiar to Castiel - albeit in a much larger scale - that Castiel felt inexplicably comforted. The wolves turned to look as the newcomers exited the forest and a heavy hush fell over the pack. Mary must have given some small signal that escaped Castiel’s notice, because after one uncomfortable breath, the wolves turned their heads and mostly ignored him, except for occasional glances from the corners of their eyes that tried, and failed, to be discreet.

Mary pushed him towards the cave that made up the primary portion of the den, but before Castiel could go, a young wolf slid up along Mary’s side.

“Dad’s still out hunting, thinks he’ll be back in the morning. They still haven’t found Dean,” the young wolf whispered into Mary’s ear, not quietly enough for Castiel to miss.

“Thank you for letting me know, Sam,” Mary replied, touching her nose to his affectionately. Sam shifted his eyes to throw a quick glance at Castiel.

“Why is this human here? Do you think he knows something about Dean?”

“This human is my guest,” was all Mary said, and she ended the conversation by pushing Castiel into the cave with her nose and following after with a swish of his tail, leaving Sam standing, bewildered, outside.

The interior of the cave was too dark for Castiel’s human eyes to process anything, and he allowed Mary to nudge him along.

“Sit,” the wolf commanded gently, and Castiel complied obediently.

As small exclamation of surprise escaped Castiel’s lips when he felt a softness beneath him, the spring of pine needles and the smooth feel of fur that did not belong to a wolf. Mary let out a small huff of laughter somewhere to one side. Castiel felt around beneath him, slowly making sense of what seemed to be a smallish nest of pine and moss, lined with soft animal pelts. Castiel discovered he was too exhausted to ask questions; the already long and eventful day turned momentous and seemingly interminable, and it was catching up to his all at once. Pain was spiking through his shoulder. His head ached, his body was sore, he had been lying in the snow for long enough that damp had seeped through his coat to his sweater, his toes were quite cold in his boots, and he had more questions than he knew what to do with. He decided to ignore all of them.

Castiel curled up on his side in the nest, pulling furs around and on top of him, and leaning his head onto his arm, and resolving to face his situation head on in the morning, when hopefully he would be a little less tired, sore, and damp. He could hear the low murmur of the pack settling in for the night, and the quiet, slow breaths of Mary beside him. Castiel closed his eyes and pretended he was back in the den with his own pack, Balthazar and Gabriel curled around him, sighing at the thought. Castiel wrinkled his nose when the tip of Mary’s tail flicked against it, perhaps in response to Castiel’s tiny sounds of homesickness.

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered into the darkness. Mary said nothing, but the tip of her tail flicked once again. Castiel lay quietly in the darkness, waiting for sleep to take him. He was just drifting off when a low, mournful sound drifted to his ears, and his sleep-fogged mind slowly placed it as the howl of wolves. Castiel was lulled into sleep by the heart-breaking sound echoing in his mind.

Castiel was too warm when he woke up. He grunted in annoyance at his lapse of judgment in passing out before taking off his boots or his coat. Castiel grudgingly opened his eyes and in the daylight filtering in from the distant mouth of the cave, he got his first real look at the little nest he was laying in. The nest was built into a little dip in the floor of the cave, and it was far too small to be any use to one of the giant wolves, although maybe a pup would find it comfortable. As he suspected the previous night, a lining of pine needles and moss cushioned the ground, and a pile of neatly cured animal furs and skins - definitely not the work of wolves - was keeping him far too warm. Castiel wondered who the nest belonged to as he pushed himself to his feet.

He yawned, his jaw popping, and he stretched his limbs, happy to find that yesterday’s soreness was mostly gone, but frowning about the dull ache in his left shoulder that remained. He was dry, and warm, and well rested. He wasn’t sure if he was quite prepared to face his first real day in the fairytale forest he had somehow been dumped into, but at least he wouldn’t be doing it while battling fatigue.

The cave was empty, but it looked the same as when Castiel last saw it. Was that yesterday? Or years from now? He tried not to think about it too hard. Caves don’t change too much, he supposed. He headed for the mouth of the cave, wondering if the wolves were outside, and hoping that the rest of the pack was as tolerant as Mary. The brightness of the sun blinded him temporarily, and before his eyes could adjust, he walked directly into something large and furry.

Castiel cursed when his tailbone hit the ground hard as he was slammed onto his back, a heavy weight pressing on his chest. He squinted up, willing his eyes to focus, and then regretted it when he found himself staring into narrowed yellow eyes and bared fangs. The wolf snarled and his lips tensed over his sharp canines when he saw Castiel staring up at him. The wolf leaned forward and pressed his weight into the paw that was pinning down Castiel’s chest, growl rumbling in his throat.

Castiel considered his options. The wolf was much bigger and heavier than him, plus he had the benefit of a mouthful of sharp teeth, so trying to wrestle him off was definitely not the best idea. He could probably eat Castiel in few bites like a snack. If he had a weapon he might be able to fight, but that would inevitably destroy his chances of getting the wolves to help him. His thought process was interrupted by a short, sharp bark from somewhere off to the right.

Another wolf slammed into the side of the one holding him down, and Castiel grunted as the blow caused the wolf’s weight to shift over his chest. The wolf didn’t lift his paw, but turned his head to snarl at the newcomer. The other wolf snapped back, and suddenly the two giants were snarling and snapping their teeth at each other over him, and Castiel was free to wriggle himself away from their argument. The second wolf seemed to win, and when she turned, Castiel recognized Mary.

The wolf who had knocked Castiel down was prowling behind her, eyes fixed on the human, his chest still rumbling with a suspicious growl. Castiel’s skin prickled as he took in the sight of the wolf. He was head and shoulders taller than Mary, miles of smooth muscles packed beneath sleek fur, the red peppered with grey. Authority rolled off of him in waves, an unconscious demand for submission that even Castiel could identify.

“I apologize for my mate,” Mary said as she sniffed Castiel up and down, checking for injuries. Castiel’s mind wrapped around the words. Mary and the unknown wolf were mates. And clearly not just mates, based on Mary’s unwavering confidence and her mate’s dominating bulk, but the alpha mates of the pack. He was in the presence of the king and queen of the winter forest.

“I am not injured,” Castiel reassured her, lifting himself back to his feet, and dusting off dirt and pine needles.

“It talks,” the alpha male growled, obviously attempting to sound threatening, but unable to keep the note of surprise out of his voice.

“Its name is Castiel,” Castiel snapped, his expression darkening as a lifetime of taunts and namelessness flashed through his mind. The wolf snarled in response and Castiel remembered that it was probably a bad idea to make the giant hunter angry. Mary snapped at her mate and glared at Castiel.

“Behave.” Castiel wasn’t sure if Mary’s order was direct to him, the mate, or both. Castiel’s stomach decided that this was the moment to make itself known with a loud grumble. “You need food.”

Mary immediately bustled Castiel off to be fed, while she herself turned to face her mate. Castiel missed their words as he was led off by the same young wolf who was suspicious of him the night before.

After a trip into the forest to empty his bladder, followed by a trip to the small spring that bubbled up cool, clear, fresh water, Castiel was seated in the dirt just in front of the cave and given a bark-wrapped package of nuts and berries that Castiel had no explanation of why a wolf would have or need. A few members of the pack watched him with unabashed curiosity, and one even offered his a large-ish pheasant, freshly killed and still covered in thick, speckled brown feathers, which Castiel politely declined. The suspicious young wolf settled down close to him, his nose almost brushing Castiel’s knee, sniffing curiously. Castiel stared at him, and the wolf shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you want something?” Castiel asked, bewildered.

“I’m Sam,” the wolf deflected, instead of answering.

“Yes, I remember Mary called you that last night. I am Castiel.”

“That’s a weird name.” Sam immediately flinched and looked up sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m not trying to offend you or anything, I just-”

“It’s fine, Sam. It is an unusual name,” Castiel reassured him. “My father named all the members of my pack, and he had - unique - tastes.”

“You have a pack? Is that why you can speak so well?” Sam was edging closer now, tense with curiosity.

“I - it’s complicated. Is it really unusual for humans to be able to speak, then?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, no, humans can talk, but they don’t have a pack, so they all have different languages and they never bother to learn each others. They can’t even talk to each other, really.”

“That’s - that’s sad.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Castiel’s thoughts drifted to the old legends, about how in the old stories it was the wolves who brought the people together to teach them about the forest. “You’ve never thought about helping the humans?”

“Dad says that a human pack could be a threat to the forest,” Sam replied cautiously, pointedly looking away.

“Your father?”

“John. The alpha.” 

“Your alpha seems very strong, but he is wrong,” Castiel stated. Sam flinched and looked around, but neither the huge alpha nor his mate were anywhere to be seen, so Sam turned to stare at the human beside him.

“John is very strong, and he has kept the pack and the forest safe for a very long time,” Sam said calmly. Castiel could hear an unspoken addendum in Sam’s soft statement.

“But?” Castiel prompted. Sam dropped his head with a sigh. For a long moment, the wolf said nothing, and Castiel was about to let it drop, returning to his meal.

“They lost their son yesterday,” Sam finally whispered. “My brother.” The wolf kept his eyes locked on the ground. Castiel recalled the heart-wrenching notes of the pack’s howl just before he fell asleep, and he let out a quiet breath, his heart melting.

“I’m sorry. It’s awful to lose a member of the pack.” It had happened to Castiel before, pups who fell ill, hunters who took a blow from moose’s antlers, or, once, a wolf who met the wrong end of a bear’s claws.

“He’s not dead.” Sam hesitated. “We don’t think he’s dead,” the wolf amended. Castiel frowned.

“What happened?”

“He was trying to protect me. He was trying to protect me, and he got taken.” Sam barked shortly, anger flaring in his eyes. “And now my Dad is being so stubborn, he refuses to listen to anyone, and-” Sam cut himself off, shivering with the effort of getting his emotions under control. “Sorry,” Sam mumbled an apology.

“Don’t apologize. If there is anything I can do to help, I would be more than happy to,” Castiel offered.

“I don’t think my Dad would go for that,” Sam admitted, “but thanks.”

Sam didn’t offer any more information, so Castiel chewed on the last scraps of his meal and considered what to do next. He supposed he should try and get home, but he had no idea where to even start, since he didn’t know how he arrived in the winter forest in the first place, and the town that ostracized him for his entire life wasn’t a place he was falling over himself to return to. Or maybe he could look for other humans here, although from what he’s gathered the human population was spread out thinly over the forest and didn’t even speak the same language. It turned out the first thing he had to do, however, was face John.

The giant wolf seemed to have calmed down, thanks to the efforts of his mate, but he still didn’t look happy. Castiel’s very presence seemed to only be adding to the stress built up by the search for the missing member of the pack. It didn’t help that Castiel had no answers to any of John’s questions about where he was from, how he got here, what he wanted, how he learned the wolf language, and on and on.

“I do not have any explanations,” Castiel finally snapped, “and continuing to harass me is not going to produce any. I am here, so perhaps we should both grow accustomed to that idea.”

John snarled at him testily, and Castiel’s eyes narrowed into a determined glare.

“You appear in my forest suddenly, without explanation, and demand that I accept your presence,” the wolf sneered.

“Yes.”

“I can’t do that. It is my duty to protect the forest.”

“I swear that I’m not a danger to you, or your pack, or your forest.”

“It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to go unsupervised.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable remaining here with the pack.”

“Get out of my sight,” John growled, narrowing his eyes, but not breaking eye contact. Their glare was only severed when Sam bodily shoved Castiel towards the forest. “We’re going back to the river,” Castiel heard John order before the sounds of the pack were muffled by distance and trees.

“You don’t have to push me,” Castiel scowled, stumbling as Sam nudged him again, making sure he was still moving away from the den.

“You’re lucky Dad didn’t start a fight,” Sam scolded, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Are you the alpha of your pack?”

Castiel had never really thought about it. He had trained his pack and they followed his instructions, so maybe from a wolf’s perspective he was. But the pack also had their own alpha mates, and he didn’t feel very dominating. He was certainly no leader among his human peers.

“I don’t know,” Castiel finally answered. “What makes you ask that?”

“Most wolves wouldn’t dare talk back to John like that,” Sam chuckled. “It’s all submissive panting and rolling over, and ‘Yes, Alpha,’ ‘No, Alpha,’ and all that.”

“Ah. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, I was only stating the facts.”

“I know that. Actually, I’m kind of jealous.”

Castiel cast a glance over at the young wolf, who was blinking shyly at the ground. They walked a few minutes in companionable silence, heading deeper into the forest than Castiel normally ventured on his own.

“Where are we going?”

“Where you won’t antagonize Dad,” was Sam’s elusive response.

They walked for maybe half an hour before Castiel smelled smoke. The rich scent of a wood fire seemed out of place in the wild of this ice-bound forest. The source of the smoke was a cheerfully crackling fire at the edge of a tiny clearing. Next to the fire was a little round house made of bent branches and bark, and in front of the house sat a human boy, who looked up when he heard the snap of twigs and rustle of pine needles that marked the arrival of the wolf and his companion.

“Sam!” the boy cried, jumping to his feet with a grin, before eyeing Castiel suspiciously.

“Hey, Ben,” Sam said, baring his teeth in a wolfish smile.

“Hey.” The word sounded a little strange in Ben’s mouth.

“I thought you said humans didn’t speak your language,” Castiel said, his head tilting as he met Ben’s unabashed stare.

“Not fluently, but Ben and his mom are friends of my brother, and they’ve picked it up. We trade with them a lot, too,” Sam explained, clarifying the source of the cured skins in the den, and the human food he was provided.

A dark haired woman ducked out from the animal hides sheltering the opening of the house, smiling when she recognized Sam, and blinking in surprise at Castiel. Ben marched up to Castiel, tugging his arm until the man crouched down to his eye level. The woman stepped up to Sam, and the two spoke in quiet murmurs while Castiel was inspected by the boy.

“Hello,” Castiel said, meeting Ben’s curious stare placidly.

“Who’re you?” the boy demanded.

“I am Castiel.”

“Friends with Sam?”

“Yes,” Castiel decided to say, since a longer explanation was probably beyond the boy’s comprehension, and Castiel didn’t know how to word his situation anyway.

“Huh,” Ben huffed, unconvinced. “You speak wolf?”

“Yes,” Castiel said again, although his one word answers were doing nothing to support that claim. Ben’s face lit up with a grin, though. Castiel’s attention was drawn away by a light touch to his shoulder. Ben’s mother was looking down at him, a lovely, kind smile lighting her face, and Castiel was struck with the thought that she was rather beautiful.

“I’m Lisa,” the woman offered, and she touched her son’s shoulder, “Ben.”

“I am Castiel.” He stood, his arms hanging limp by his sides, since he didn’t know the customary greeting. Lisa simply nodded.

“What am I supposed to do here?” Castiel looked over at Sam with a wide-eyed, desperate look. He eyed the house, which looked barely big enough for the woman and child to curl up and sleep.

“Help them out, stay out of John’s fur for a while,” Sam offered. Castiel grimaced. “Try not to start any fights.”

“I don’t start fights,” Castiel grumbled.

“Don’t look so panicked, Lisa’s nice. I’ll come back and check on you later,” Sam promised, before silently sliding back between the trees and disappearing, leaving Castiel alone with the two strange humans.

Lisa apparently could use the help, and she immediately took charge, setting Castiel to the task of wrestling with a bone needle, a long thread, and a pair of rabbit-fur lined mittens with a large hole in them. Ben was insistent on learning how to ‘speak wolf’, as he called it, and Castiel spent half of the day answering the boy’s prompts for various words. Lisa was quieter, only sometimes calling out something to her son in a language that Castiel did not understand.

The day passed before Castiel could even register it. It was late afternoon, the sun was going down, and Sam hadn’t returned. Castiel was wondering if he could find his own way back to the den, and if John would allow him to spend the night if he did. But then Lisa wrapped her hands around Castiel’s arm, and Ben offered Castiel a bowl filled with warm stew, and Castiel conceded that it was best to stay the night. He was right about the little house being too small to comfortably fit three people, even if one of them was pint-sized, but they squeezed in somehow. Castiel fell asleep curled around himself, listening to the low, pained howl of wolves on the wind.

~~

Castiel woke up when something smacked into his stomach, the air punching out of Castiel’s lungs with an ‘oomf’. Castiel cracked his eyes open and found himself looking up into sharp brown eyes, and a wide white smile. Ben was wielding a pillow, grinning down at him. Castiel frowned and tried to curl back in on himself but the boy was already tugging him upright and leading him, yawning, into the wintery morning. 

Lisa was already bustling around their small campsite, gathering up various items and placing them into bags. Ben chattered brightly, mixing his own strange human language with the various wolf words that he knew. Castiel had no idea what he was saying. Lisa smiled as Castiel rubbed sleep out of his eyes, and Castiel managed to grunt articulately in response to Lisa’s greeting.

Castiel was given a package of nuts and berries, almost identical to the one he ate the previous day and confirmed that Lisa and Ben must have been the source of that meal, too. Why the wolves had it, he still couldn’t figure out. Maybe they had frequent human visitors. Castiel ate quietly and watched Lisa finish whatever preparations she was making. They both concluded around the same time, and Lisa handed Castiel a mostly empty bag, which Castiel took and held stupidly while Lisa indicated that they were heading into the forest. Ben beckoned as he followed behind his mother. After a moment of dazed hesitation, Castiel slung the bag over his back, copying Lisa, and followed.

They were headed to the river. The wide, white ribbon of frozen water was comfortingly familiar. Lisa stopped at the river’s edge, looking up and down carefully, inspecting her surroundings. After assuring himself that she saw whatever it was she was looking for, Lisa gripped Ben’s hand and they picked their way carefully across the expanse of ice. Ben waved at Castiel to accompany them, uncharacteristically quiet. They crossed, scrambling up the low ridge on the bank of the river to reach the fields beyond. Castiel noticed a few large holes dug low in the bank, just above the ice as he pulled himself over the ridge. The holes would be completely covered by water in the spring thaw, and Castiel made a note to ask Lisa, or better, Sam, what caused them.

On the far side of the river were the growing fields, or at least that’s how Castiel knew them. The land was completely free of trees, and the soil was soft and rich, so the fields were used to grow the crops that supplemented the town’s food supply. Even in winter when the fields lay empty, the land was neat and cared for.

What Castiel saw now as he stood on the ridge and looked out over the terrain was a wasteland. The ground was rocky and uneven, and peppered with giant holes that seemed to plunge straight down into the earth to unknown depths. Castiel’s mouth hung open in shock. Other than the absence of human buildings, the forest looked the same as Castiel had always known it, if a little younger. This, however, was completely and shockingly different from anything Castiel had ever seen. It was cold, empty, lifeless; endless fields of stone and frost, with the wind whipping little flurries across the land.

Castiel closed his jaw, gone slack in staring out over the devastating barrenness confronting him, and hurried after his companions who were some distance ahead of him. Castiel caught up to mother and son at a small square of overturned earth marked by a makeshift fence of short branches pushed into the earth - a garden. Maybe the waste wasn’t so lifeless after all. Green shoots poked out of the soil at regular intervals, and Castiel identified stalks of broad beans and hearty green cabbages alongside several crops that he didn’t recognize.

Lisa was crouched down next to Ben, who was punching his fists into the earth violently, sitting in the dirt next to a large strip of plants near the center of the garden that were brown and clearly dead. Castiel’s forehead wrinkled at the sight of the destroyed vegetables, a sharp contrast with the green and growing things that made up the rest of the garden.

“What -”

Ben shushed him. Castiel’s mouth snapped shut, more in shock of the boy quieting him than the actual demand. Lisa looked up with wide, sad eyes.

“Demons,” Lin said with quiet fury in her voice, waving a hand towards the dead plants. Ben let out an angry snort at the word. The boy wiped at his damp eyes, mourning the loss of their plants, which must have been hard work to coax to life in these wintery conditions. Lisa conveyed some sense of urgency, so under her direction, Castiel helped gather some of the vegetables ready to harvest from the still living crops, and the three followed the river quietly back to their crossing point.

As they reached the bank, familiar red fur and waving tails came into view. A small party of wolves sniffed at the holes in the bank that Castiel noticed on their way up. The ice was popping and settling a little under the combined weight of the wolves. They were led by John himself, Castiel observed, and concluded that they must still be searching for his missing son. The fully grown wolves were far too large to fit down the holes in the bank, but Castiel though he could probably squeeze his shoulders through. Maybe he could offer to help in the search.

As he contemplated approaching John, a flash of red further down the ridge caught his eye. It was a small wolf pup, who was sniffing determinedly along the ridge. The top of the bank was far enough above the level of the river that the adult wolves couldn’t see the pup, and Castiel knew that a pup this small would never be invited on a search party, so she could only be a stowaway. Castiel rolled his eyes, ready to call down to John to inform him about the pup, when the young wolf began to slink towards the edge of one of those enormous chasms that opened up all over this barren waste.

Castiel cursed, dropped his heavy bag of vegetables and started to run, concentrating on keeping his feet under him in the slick snow. Ben called out after him, and the heads of the wolves below them snapped up. Castiel ignored them, his focus single-minded, dashing towards the pup, whose head was still down, as oblivious to the noise as she was to the edge of the hole she was getting closer and closer to with every step. Castiel slid forward and his shoulder gave a twinge when he grabbed the wolf by a back leg and hauled her back with a startled yelp.

The wolf pup backed away from the hole, horrified now that she realized the danger she had been in. Castiel snorted. He thought about the last child he had saved from falling, and wondered if kids were putting themselves in dangerous situations on purpose just to mess with him. Then the ground caved in, and Castiel was falling. Again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the moral of the story is actually that saving children leads to falling down and injuring yourself. 
> 
> I'm terrible at [Tumblr](http://jailikechai.tumblr.com) but I love me some internet friends, so will you be mine?


	3. The Handsome Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY our hero encounters his damsel in distress!
> 
> Today's monsters are brought to you by:  
> Worms. Have you ever seen a [worm mouth](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/310124/HYDROTHERMAL-WORM-ELECTRON-MICROSCOPE.jpg)? Neither had I until I was doing some entirely unnecessary research for this story.  
> Also, [these motherfuckers](http://dxline.info/img/new_ail/centipede_2.jpg), who like to hang out in my house and make me question why I live in a jungle.
> 
> Don't follow the links if bugs gross you out. Trust me, just don't.

His shoulder hurt. A lot. Castiel groaned as he woke, deja vu hitting him as he shook off the sensation of falling and rolled his weight off his re-injured shoulder. At least this time he remembered clearly what happened, until he was knocked unconscious by his hard landing, that is. Wherever he had landed was cold, and hard, and dark.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

The rich, deep voice echoed out of the darkness, and Castiel jumped. A human voice. Speaking his familiar language.

“Where am I?” Castiel blinked into the darkness. A distant grey light filled the space around him, and his eyes were adjusting slowly, a rocky floor beneath his coming into focus bit by bit.

“Shit, you can talk?”

There was a familiar statement that he had heard all too often over the last few days, and Castiel’s patience was wearing thin.

“That wasn’t my question,” Castiel scowled back.

“Oh. Um. You’re somewhere in the Wyrm caves.” A long, awkward pause. “You fell on me.”

“Sorry,” Castiel winced. He squinted, the shape of his companion slowly sharpening in front of him. The man was sitting down, leaning against a wall, and Castiel took in an impression of square shoulders and long limbs.

“It’s not a big deal. It’s not like you could help it. The ground must have caved in.” The man waved above them, and Castiel looked up through a long, wide tunnel of rock and earth that ended in a small circle of light impossibly far above them. “The extra light is nice, though. It was darker in here before.”

“How long have you been down here?”

“A while. Day or two? It’s hard to tell because it’s not easy to see the sun. I’m Dean, by the way.”

“I am Castiel.” The shape in front of him was less blurry as his eyes adjusted. Dean was smiling, a broad, cheerful, contagious grin. 

“I don’t know you,” he said.

“Should you?”  

“I know pretty much everyone,” Dean replied with a shrug, which might have sounded arrogant coming from someone else, but Castiel got the impression of sincerity and honest curiosity in his low, good-natured voice. “It’s not really a big forest.”

“It’s a huge forest.”

Dean laughed. “Ok, yeah, but there’s not a lot of humans in it. And I definitely would’ve remembered a name like ‘Castiel’”

“I’m new,” Castiel explained shortly, and Dean nodded obligingly, ignoring his irritable rudeness. “So, when you say we’re somewhere in the Wyrm caves, you mean…”

“I mean that we’re in the Wyrm caves, and I don’t know exactly where we are. The caves go everywhere under the waste, and I’m not too sure where exactly they dumped me. Where’d you fall in?”

“Right there,” Castiel pointed up at the hole in the distant ceiling, feeling lost. Dean laughed again, a big, full belly laugh, and the sound seemed to crawl through Castiel’s skin and warm him from inside. It was a good laugh.

“I mean, up there, where were you before the ground caved in?” Oh. That did make more sense.

“I was near the river, on one of the high banks.” 

Dean sat up immediately and leaned in towards him.

“We’re that close to the forest? Did you see the wolves?”

“Yes, they were right there when I fell. They were out searching -” Castiel stopped abruptly. He sucked in a gasp of breath as things slotted into place in his brain - the nest in the den, the furs, the food, the name. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“What’s me?”

“The missing member of the pack. Sam’s brother. That’s why you speak the wolf language. They were looking for you.”

“Oh. They were looking for me?”

“So you really are a part of the pack?”

“Yeah, of course. You didn’t know?”

“How would I know?”

“Mm. I thought everyone knew.”

“Why do you keep assuming you know everyone and everyone knows you?”

“Do you always argue this much?”

Castiel huffed and Dean chuckled.

“It’s kind of nice. Wolves don’t really argue with words,” Dean reassured him. "It’s all biting and jumping each other. Messy. So, how're we getting out of here?"

"What?" So much for being good with words.

“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention. We’re also in prison.”

“Excuse me, what?” Castiel was still trying to process the abrupt change in subject.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m a hostage. But you're going to help, right?"

"Get out of here? Of course," Castiel said, his head spinning. "It's not like I want to be stuck down here, either."

"Ok, good. So, how're we going to do this? Think we can climb up?" Dean looked up at the hole far above them.

“I - what?”

Dean chuckled. “Your head on ok after that fall?”

Castiel scowled at his infuriating companion. He had spent less than ten minutes in the man’s presence and Castiel already felt more lost and disoriented than he had in the past few days of being ripped away from everything he had ever known.

“I believe I am missing information necessary to make informed conclusions about the appropriate course of action,” Castiel snapped, breathing slowly and trying to piece together his situation.

“Guess your head’s ok, then. Right, what do you want to know?”

“We’re underground.”

“Yes.”

“You are a prisoner. We are trapped in this room.”

“Also yes.”

“How did you get down?”

“Oh. The Wyrms grabbed me, dragged me down one of the holes in the bank up by the weird tree.”

Castiel could sense more of as story there, but he sensed Dean’s hesitation and didn’t press the issue. He hated having to ask the next question, it would definitely make him sound stupid, but he needed to know. “What’s a Wyrm?”

Dean’s jaw fell open.

“I - um - wow, dude. How can you not know?”

“I’m new,” Castiel growled, cursing his ignorance, even though there was no way he could magically know what a Wyrm was, since they definitely didn’t exist in his version of the forest.

“Ok. Fuck.” Dean stuttered. “Wyrms are big, long, slithery things, with lots of legs. They eat rocks and dirt, that’s what makes these tunnels. Nothing can grow over a Wyrm’s tunnel, and they’re pretty spiteful, because sometimes they do it on purpose. Especially when humans try and use the good soil on this side of the river to grow food, that’s why the humans call them Demons.”

“Oh. That’s what happened to Lisa’s garden.” Castiel did not like the sound of these Wyrms.

“You met Lisa? And Ben, I assume,” Dean said, perking back up, then frowning sharply. “They planted a garden? That’s risky.”

Castiel recalled  that Sam mentioned Lisa and Ben were friends with his brother, and absently wondered exactly what kind of relationship Dean had with them. “It’s just a garden.”

“Like I said, Wyrms are spiteful. They can do worse than just kill some plants.” Dean sounded truly worried.

“Dean, I’m sure Lisa and Ben will be fine,” Castiel reassured him. Dean flashed him a quick grin.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. They’re pretty tough. Been through a lot since Lisa’s mate died.”

“Oh. You are not her mate?” The words left Castiel’s mouth without his permission and he tensed, awkward.

“Nah, man.” Dean seemed unaffected, waving off the question. “Not like I didn’t think about it, though. Lisa’s amazing, and so’s Ben, but I just… I was raised like a wolf, you know? I just didn’t fit.”

“Yes,” Castiel said with feeling,  “I do know.” 

Castiel crossed the space between them and sat down, leaning against the wall opposite Dean. Dean’s gaze raked him up and down, and Castiel squirmed under the scrutiny.

“So, what’s your story, Cas? You fall on me out of nowhere, don’t know about Wyrms, don’t know about me, just say ‘I’m new,’ like that’s a thing?”

“I -” Castiel hesitated. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.”

“I think I’m crazy.”

“A crazy person doesn’t know that their crazy.”

Castiel took another look at Dean’s persistent smile and he started to talk. He told Dean about the town, and about his pack. He told Dean about the old legends of the Winter Forest, and the Red Wolves, and the Warrior. He told Dean about falling, and waking up with Mary standing over him. Dean just listened intently, with an occasional nod or grunt of acknowledgement.

Dean responded by telling Castiel about growing up in the pack. He explained how Mary witnessed his birth parents dying in a tragic accident when he was an infant, and how the wolf had brought him home, since she was unable to bear a pup of her own. He recalled the joy when Mary finally conceived years later, giving birth to Sam. Dean laughed through stories of Sam as an awkward, uncoordinated pup, and expressed his pride at Sam’s accomplishments as he grew.

Castiel shared his own stories about hunting with Balthazar and how a rabbit somehow managed to knock them down a steep hill, rolling in a tumble right onto a napping Uriel, whose fangs were responsible for the scar on Castiel’s right elbow. Dean laughed, and countered with a tale of Sam chasing a squirrel up a tree, and Dean insisting he could coax the animal down from its nest by climbing up, resulting in an impressive fall and a dislocated shoulder. 

At the mention of the injured shoulder, Castiel reflexively rolled his, wincing in pain.

“What happened to your shoulder?” Dean’s eyebrows drew together as he watched Castiel shrug the shoulder in question, testing his range of motion.

“Nothing. I fell on it. Multiple times. It’s fine.”

“Multiple times?”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Let me take a look. Take your coat off.”

“Dean.”

“Cas. You’re not going to be much help with the whole escape plan if you’re hurt.”

“You never explained why the Wyrms imprisoned you,” Castiel jumped on a chance to change the subject. Dean glared at him for the obvious evasion tactic, then sighed.

“It’s kind of a long story.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel said dryly, and Dean’s face twisted into a hesitant smile.

“Right, so, I guess I can start with my dad. John. He’s the pack’s alpha, and the guardian of the forest, and has been for practically forever. Maybe literally forever, I don’t know. And just as long, the Wyrms have been hanging out on this side of the river, eating up all the ground, and killing everything topside. So, it’s the wolves on one side and the Wyrms on the other side, and any time a Wyrm crosses over the river, it’s killed. If even one Wyrm got underneath the forest and started chowing down, the whole forest would die pretty quick. But, like I said, Wyrms are pretty spiteful, and they figure that the forest deserves to die because the wolves keep killing them. And now the Wyrms are running out of space on this side, and the pack isn’t as big as it used to be, so things are getting a little hairy.

I was out with Sam, by the river, and I was gonna climb up the tree, find some dead branches that would make good firewood, and that’s when the Wyrms grabbed him. But like hell I’m going to let those fucking Demons take my little brother, so I jump down and go at them, which was really fucking stupid. Wyrms are big, but Sam’s huge, and there’s no way he would fit in a Wyrm hole, so they were probably after me the whole time, anyway. And, well, I ended up trapped in this shithole, have been for a few days, and I guess they figure that Dad will let them into the forest if they have me.”

“You’re a hostage.”

“That’s what I said. It’s not going to work, though,” Dean sighed. 

“You don’t think your father would negotiate your release?”

“And risk the forest? No way,” Dean scoffed. “Wouldn’t want him to, either. Forest is my home, too.”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully, observing the passionate conviction on Dean’s face.

"How do the Wyrms get out?" Castiel finally sighed, returning to the problem of how to get out and avoid the whole hostage conflict altogether. He stood to study the tunnel he fell through, the sides crumbling, frozen earth and stone. It seemed impossibly long and not very climbable.

"They can climb straight up. Their legs stick to the rock, or something, it’s gross,” Dean pantomimed crawling legs, his nose wrinkling. Castiel grimaced. He didn’t mind insects, but that didn’t mean he wanted to meet one of the monsters Dean described.

“Ok, so at least we know that the river is right over -” Castiel pointed, then stopped. He turned in a small circle. The area around him was dark, and it all looked the same. He looked up at the hole above, just a small point of light, nothing discernable above. Dean watched him, lips pressed together to hold back a smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkling instead.

“Exactly,” Dean said, the corner of his mouth twitching up, despite his best efforts.

Castiel glared at him. “How can you possibly be so calm about this?”

“Freaking out will only make it worse,” Dean shrugged. “Look, it’s a total maze down here. Walking around and hoping to find a tunnel out is not going to work, even if we can bust out of this room.”

Castiel groaned. He put one hand to the wall to map out the space around him in earnest. He traced the wall, which surrounded them in a rough oval, just a small pocket of mostly dark space. At one point in the wall, Castiel felt the jagged edges of a tumble of rocks, instead of surprisingly smooth earthen walls, some sort of cave-in.

“Dean,” Castiel called. “This part of the wall -”

“Yeah, that’s the tunnel out. The Wyrms caved in the roof after they put me in here. I wouldn’t touch it though, those rocks are pretty unstable.”

Castiel ignored the warning and frowned, pushing tentatively at the pile of stone. He didn’t see any other route of escape, they would somehow have to get into this tunnel. It was too dark to see properly, so he let his hands trace the outline of the cave-in.

“I’m serious, Cas, you shouldn’t mess with that,” Dean warned again. Castiel rolled his eyes, lodging his foot against a stone to lift himself so he could check the top of the pile. The rocks under his feet shifted, and Castiel flung out a hand to balance himself, knocking into the loose stones of the cave-in.

Castiel thought to himself that he should really start paying attention to people’s warnings as weight slammed into him and darkness flooded into his head.

~~

“Cas! Cas, hey, you with me?”

Castiel’s vision was swimming, his ears were ringing. His stomach turned cartwheels as he blinked blearily at the shape hovering over him.

“Cas, you in there?”

Castiel’s shoulder hurt, worse than he had ever experienced before, and he groaned at the pain.

“Geezus. I think you might have a concussion. Don’t pass out again, ok?”

Something shifted under him, tilting Castiel’s head, and he gasped at the fiery stab of pain down his left side.

“Sorry. Here, drink this.”

Castiel felt something press against his lips, and a broad hand helped lift his head so a mouthful of cool, but stale, water could trickle down his throat. He gasped a deep breath as his head settled back against something soft and warm

“Feeling any better? Think you can talk?”

Castiel’s head was cradled in Dean’s lap, and Dean’s face was starting to come into focus above him. Castiel’s eyes traced the line of his nose, the concerned furrow in his brow.

“My shoulder,” Castiel managed to choke out. Dean’s eyes snapped to the joint in question. Castiel gasped again as Dean’s fingers gently assessed his injury.

“Sorry,” Dean apologized. He frowned, his gaze flicked back to Castiel’s face. “It’s dislocated. I’m gonna have to pop it back in, and it’s going to hurt even more than it does right now, but after that it’ll feel better, I promise.”

“Wait -” Castiel gulped. Dean looked at him, eyebrows raised, eyes worried. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing.”

Dean dissolved into a low laugh, the one that warmed Castiel’s insides.

“I told you the story about Sam and the squirrel up the tree, right? Yeah, not my first fall out of a tree,” Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Actually, I, uh, kind of have a track record of dislocated shoulders. So, yeah, I know what I’m doing.”

Dean grinned down at Castiel, a hint of dimples at the corners of his lips, and Castiel’s eyes went wide, drinking in the sight. It effectively distracted him from Dean’s expert movement of his arm, and he gulped back a shout as pain screamed through him, and his joint moved back into place.

Then, just as Dean had promised, most of the pain was gone. A bone-deep ache persisted through his left torso, but the fiery daggers of pain shooting through him were gone. Castiel sighed in relief and Dean smiled.

“Way easier to do on someone else than on yourself,” Dean chuckled. “And don’t get me started on how hard it is to try and explain to a wolf how to relocate a shoulder.”

Castiel huffed in amusement.

“Wow, was that a laugh? Did I get a laugh out of you?”

“I believe I may have a concussion,” Castiel remarked dryly. Dean’s responding bray of laughter echoed through the small space. Castiel felt pleased for making Dean laugh. “May I sleep now?”

“You feeling any better?”

“My shoulder hurts, my head hurts, but my vision isn’t so blurry, and the nausea is mostly gone,” Castiel assessed.

“Fuck, man, you hit your head hard. I told you not to mess with those rocks.” Dean looked guilty. Castiel reached up a hand to touch his face lightly.

“You did. And I did not listen.”

“You do that a lot, huh?” Dean smiled softly.

“I am realizing that I do,” Castiel confessed. 

“Ok, go to sleep Cas. When you wake up I’m relying on you to think up an escape plan, remember?” 

Castiel smiled, closed his eyes, and allowed his body to go limp, cradled in Dean’s warm arms.

Fingers were sliding through his hair and tingles were running over his scalp when he woke. The sensations were soothing over the throbbing pain just under Castiel’s skull. His eyelids fluttered open and he realized that his cheek was pressed against Dean’s knee and he was drooling slightly. He jerked upright, and immediately groaned as his stomach lurched and his head spun. Dean flinched at his reaction, lifting his hands guiltily and watched Castiel lean his head into his arms and breathe deeply to settle himself.

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked carefully.

“Terrible.” Castiel saw no reason to lie. “But I believe I am more cognizant than I was previously. What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember investigating the cave-in, so I assume that some of those stones fell on me, but I do not remember the incident itself, no.”

“Huh. Well, not much to it other than that. You slipped, knocked some rocks loose, they fell on you, you conked your head pretty fucking hard and dislocated your shoulder.” Dean gave Castiel a wicked half-smile. “Immediately after ignoring my sage advice to leave said rocks alone.”

“I promise to defer to your paragon of wisdom from now on,” Castiel huffed.

“Guess the concussion didn’t affect your vocab,” Dean commented, eyes bright. Castiel glowered and Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mon, who uses words like ‘cognizant’ and ‘paragon’ when they’re concussed?”

“Perhaps my mastery of the language your pack seems to think is beyond human ability exceeds your own.”

“Yeah, well, I’m one of those dumb humans so maybe the pack is right.”

“You seem reasonably intelligent to me, Dean,” Castiel argued.

“Yeah, well, you don’t know me that well, do you,” Dean countered. Castiel paused, searching Dean’s face, Dean staring straight back.

“Are you arguing against your own intelligence?” Castiel said incredulously. Dean blinked and dissolved into laughter. 

“That should be proof enough in itself,” Dean chuckled. Castiel shook his head slowly, eyes still fixed on his companion. “Here.” Dean held out a bladder-like skin, and Castiel could hear liquid sloshing inside. It hurt to tilt his head, so he put the opening to his lips and tipped some water in, letting it flow slowly over his tongue and down his dry throat. Dean smiled as he watched Castiel swallow.

“I’ve got a little bit of smoked meat, too, if you’re up for it. Know you said you were nauseous before, but we should get some food in you,” Dean offered. Castiel paused, stalling his movement of lifting the waterskin to his mouth for another drink.

“Dean, is this all the food and water you have?” Castiel watched Dean’s eyes slide away, and he let the waterskin slowly drop into his lap. “When was your last meal?”

“Doesn’t matter, Cas, you’re hurt. There’s still plenty of water in that skin, and I’ve got some food left, so don’t worry about it. Drink up, eat something, get better, ok?” 

“I - no - no, not ok, Dean. I can’t consume all of your resources. You would have had enough for several more days if I had not fallen, and it’s my own fault for getting injured,” Castiel objected, his stomach knotting with guilt rather than nausea this time.

“Hey, I don’t plan on being down here that long, so hurry the fuck up and get better so you can help me get out,” Dean responded lightly. 

Castiel obediently took another sip of water, and accepted a strip of dried venison, which he chewed on while Dean watched approvingly.

“How’s your shoulder?” Dean nodded at the injured joint. Castiel tried moving his left arm a little, pleased to note that the sharp pain was entirely gone, and only the dull ache remained.

“It aches,” Castiel tells him, “but the pain is not nearly as intense as before.”

“Good. Is it ok if I take a look?”

“Why?” Castiel gaped at Dean, who smiled reassuringly.

“Just to check and make sure everything’s back where it’s supposed to be. And I’d like to wrap it up, keep the swelling down. I want you in tip top escape shape.” Dean snorted. “Heh. Escape shape.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the sight of Dean laughing at his own joke, but obligingly shucked off his jacket. He was dressed for the chill of a snowy night, so he had to strip off a vest, sweater, long sleeved shirt, and short sleeved shirt before his shoulder became visible. Castiel swallowed hard when he saw what had been hidden under his layers - his whole upper arm dark and mottled with bruises that spread across his chest and down his left ribcage, and likely around his back as well. 

“Jesus,” Dean swore quietly. He shifted himself closer, and Castiel could feel the hairs on his arm stand on end at the proximity. Dean lifted a hand, but paused, hovering just over Castiel’s skin. “Can I?” 

Dean’s eyes flicked to Castiel’s for permission. Castiel nodded, and Dean’s warm, calloused fingers gently prodded his injuries. Castiel’s jaw tightened as Dean’s hand moved over deep bruises and assessed the state of his muscles and tendons with gentle experience.

“Let me know if it hurts too much,” Dean warned, watching the slight tension move across Castiel’s face.

“I’m fine,” Castiel insisted. Dean let his hands drop and Castiel mourned their touch. The air was icy cold and Dean’s hands were surprisingly warm. 

“Mind if I use this?” Dean lifted Castiel’s short sleeved shirt.

“Go ahead.” Dean expertly ripped the garment into wide strips, which he then wound around Castiel’s shoulder and chest.

“You’re very good at this,” Castiel commented, watching the other man work. Dean shrugged.

“I’m not a wolf, and I can’t really hunt with the rest of the pack, so I had to get good at something else. I patch everyone up when they get hurt. Just don’t want to be a burden, you know?”

“I can’t imagine anyone in the pack thinks you’re a burden.” Castiel thought about the painful howls of the wolves as they mourned their lost brother. They felt Dean’s loss very deeply, it was clear.

Dean tied off the last end of makeshift bandage, then helped Castiel struggle back into his clothes, his mobility hampered by the tight wrapping of his damaged joint.

“My dad didn’t want a human,” Dean said, and by his face Castiel could tell that he didn’t mean for them to come out. Castiel said nothing, just huddled into the warmth of his coat. After a minute, Dean continued. “John, he’s supposed to be the great, strong alpha wolf, protector of the pack, guardian of the forest. He wanted a child to uphold his legacy, a great hunter, an alpha, and instead he got me. No matter how hard I try, I’ll never have fur or fangs. I’ll always be human. At least now he has Sam. Sam can be all those things for him, even though I can’t. So I just gotta keep doing my best, gotta take care of Sammy. Do my part.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, but Dean cut off any words that might come next as he pulled Castiel back in towards him.

“Lie down,” Dean ordered, rearranging himself so they can return to their position of Castiel laying with his head in Dean’s lap. “You’re still concussed, you need to rest that big brain.”

Castiel shied away. “Resting does not require me to use you as a pillow. I will be fine on the ground.”

Dean tightened his grip, refusing to let Castiel wriggle away.

“Concussed,” Dean said, adding a light tap to Castiel’s forehead with one finger, causing an alarming stab of pain through Castiel’s skull. “No arguing.” Dean soothed his words with a stroke of his fingertips through Castiel’s hair. Castiel felt himself melt into the touch.

The throbbing in Castiel’s head had dulled significantly by the next time he woke. His head was still cushioned on Dean’s thigh, and thankfully he wasn’t drooling.

“Oh thank god,” Dean groaned when he saw Castiel’s eyes blink open. “Let me up, man.”

Castiel sleepily pushed himself upright, frowning at Dean.

“I told you this sleeping arrangement was inadvisable,” Castiel pointed out as Dean leapt to his feet. 

“It’s not that it’s - uh -” Dean shifted uncomfortably, giving Castiel an awkward sideways glance. “I just really gotta take a piss.”

Castiel felt himself flush red and for once blessed the grey half-light of their underground prison. “Oh.”

Castiel pointedly looked away, and blushed again at Dean’s moan of relief as he relieved himself in a distant corner of their small space. 

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled sheepishly when he rejoined Castiel. “I’ve been trying to keep this cell clean, but sometime you just have to - you know.”

“I understand,” Castiel assured him. Dean smiled at him and sank back to the floor, tentatively lifting a hand and brushing fingertips against Castiel’s temple.

“How’s your head?”

“Much improved, thank you,” Castiel informed him, nodding the appendage in question as if to prove his point. His head still ached, but in a dull, distant way that he could ignore if he tried hard enough.

“Great, cause we are getting out of here!”

Castiel blinked at him. “How?”

“Ok, so I may have failed to mention this before because I didn’t want you fucking up your head or your shoulder any more, but when you got crushed in that landslide, you actually knocked down a bunch of the big rocks covering the tunnel.”

Castiel whipped around to inspect the site of his accident. Rocks were scattered haphazardly across the ground, and true to Dean’s word, some of the larger boulders had shifted, revealing a sizable hole at the top of the tunnel entrance. With only a little maneuvering, the hole would be big enough for both men to squeeze through, out of their small prison and into the tunnel beyond.

“Perhaps I was wise to ignore your advice after all,” Castiel remarked, standing to inspect the opening more closely, but cautiously keeping his distance from the rocks.

“You say as you avoid the rocks like the plague,” Dean teased, following Castiel towards the landslide. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the rest of the rocks.”

“What are we going to do once we’re in the tunnel?”

“I just said I’ll handle the rocks. You can handle the plan.”

“Dean…”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! You’re concussed, don’t think too hard.” Dean grinned and held up his hands in response to Castiel’s dark glare. “Really, though, we can’t just sit here and rot. We’ll get out in those tunnels, see where we end up.”

Castiel sighed.

“If we can get close enough to an exit, there may be signs that we can follow outside. Water, or wind, or maybe even the smell.” Castiel wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the dank, mildewy air of the tunnel.

“See, knew I was keeping you around for something.” Dean smiled brightly at him, and despite the teasing nature of the words, Castiel felt warm. Dean began to carefully shift rocks down, away from the hole he had opened in the cave-in. Castiel stayed away, Dean insisting that he continue to rest, not that he would be much help moving rocks with only one fully functional arm.

They talked as Dean worked. Dean learned that Castiel hated the smell of juniper, loved listening to old myths, and had a guilty pleasure of indulging in too much wine on rare occasions. Castiel learned that Dean enjoyed singing, and knew more terrible jokes than anyone he had ever met. 

“Ok, Cas, how about this one - what do you get when you cross a pie and a snake?” Dean stopped, holding a boulder against his chest to stare at Castiel with wide, eager eyes. Castiel stared back blankly, biting back a groan. “A pie-thon! Get it? Python?”

“That’s a very clever play on words, Dean,” Castiel assured him.

“One more, one more. Why did the turkey cross the road?” Dean grinned in anticipation of his own punchline. “To prove he wasn’t chicken!” Dean chuckled.

Castiel couldn’t hold back his smile. The jokes may not have been funny, but Dean’s delight with them was heartwarming.

“Where do you get all of these from?” Castiel asked.

“Make ‘em up, a few I hear from the other humans around the forest when I see them. Ben likes them, but it’s hard with the language thing,”  Dean replied. “Wolves have no sense of humor, though. You should hear Sam. ‘That doesn’t even make sense, Dean. Ducks can’t even talk, Dean.’” Dean mimicked his brother’s voice unconvincingly. 

“In a humorous setting one has to make allowances for a suspension of disbelief when it comes to talking animals,” Castiel agreed with a solemn nod.

“Well, that’s the weirdest way of putting it that I’ve ever heard, but yeah, I guess.” Dean grinned at him, and Castiel noted the way the corners of his eyes crinkled charmingly. He wondered what color those eyes were under proper lighting. In the dark they were a muddy grey.

Dean was focused on Castiel, so he didn’t see the shape move behind the hole in the wall, but Castiel did. His eyes blew wide open as the monstrous shape began to push through the opening that was now just large enough to crawl through. 

The Wyrm was part centipede, part earthworm, part nightmare, and Castiel conceded that these monsters had earned their nickname of ‘demon’. It was at least as wide as Castiel, although only half as tall, covered in a hard armored hell, and it had far more legs than any creature should have a use for. Castiel heard a crunching, rumbling sound coming from underneath it, and he realized with horror it was the sound of teeth. He thought maybe it was trying to talk.

Dean fell away from the creature with a surprised shout, but the Wyrm seemed focused on Castiel. Castiel couldn’t identify anything that looked like eyes, or ears, but it seemed aware of his presence, and the fact that he was not supposed to be here in this prison with Dean. 

The Wyrm lunged forward, grabbed Castiel in its two front legs and started to move, quicker than he would have thought possible. He whacked at it with his fists, but the blows were ineffective against the Wyrm’s armor. He vaguely heard Dean shout something, along with a soft clicking, skittering noise that belonged to a second Wyrm. The Wyrm holding him wriggled to grip his coat in its teeth, and began moving forward and up this time, crawling straight up the wall. Castiel struggled against his captor, beating at it with one hand, the other checking the pockets of his coat for anything that might help him get free.

Castiel’s hand closed around the handle of a knife. The knife that the old woman gave him at the Ice Breaking festival, which had been tucked away in his coat this whole time. Castiel clenched his fist around it, and slashed out mindlessly. The Wyrm made a keening noise, and clenched its teeth tighter around his coat, so Castiel struck again, and then he was falling.

He made sure he rolled away from his left shoulder as he fell, landing on his back this time and thanking whatever higher power was out there that this fall was relatively short and left no damage. The dead Wyrm was leaking dark, viscous, noxious smelling fluid from the knife wounds in its underbelly. Too late he realized that the Wyrm had been climbing up the wall in an attempt to get him out of the tunnels, to bring him to the surface. They must have wanted to get rid of him, to get him away from Dean.

“Dean?” Castiel called tentatively. There was no answer, and the silence and darkness that surrounded him suddenly seemed oppressive, even frightening. The second Wyrm must have taken Dean. Castiel’s fists clenched as he felt a burning hot wave of anger wash through him. He was not going to let these monsters win, take Dean, take the forest. He was going to think of plan to get both him and Dean out together, just like Dean asked him to. Then they were going to take out every last one of these Wyrms so the forest would never be threatened again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kind of bad about all the injuries I keep inflicting on Cas in this story. Poor baby.
> 
> You can come hear me make lame excuses for my occasionally questionable writing choices on [Tumblr](http://jailikechai.tumblr.com/)


	4. The Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for terrible puns and adorable hand-holding.
> 
> I'm not exaggerating about how bad the puns are.

Castiel’s fury felt like a fire, burning away the lingering fog in his mind. He tucked his knife back into his jacket and took a moment to inspect the corpse of the Wyrm, trying to get a sense of his enemy. The monster was broad and flat and heavy. Dean had mentioned that they ate stone, and it showed in the weight of the body. Castiel couldn’t get it to budge an inch. It had no eyes or ears that Castiel could discern, only a gaping mouth filled with grinding teeth. The top and sides of the creature were protected by its hard shell, but its belly was soft and vulnerable. Castiel took notes on its weaknesses.

The Wyrms were not quiet, and he had plenty of time to conceal himself against a shadowed wall at the back of the cell before two more of the demons smashed through the last of the cave-in blocking the exit. Castiel pressed himself against the wall, not even daring to breathe, since he didn’t know how the Wyrms’ senses worked and whether or not they could detect his presence. He wondered how the monsters could have caught he and Dean unaware, then remembered Dean’s loud, booming laughter and felt his stomach churn.

Castiel watched silently as the Wyrms fixed immediately on their dead kin, swarming over to it, making scratching, rumbling noises that Castiel identified as some form of speech. Their legs clicked and scraped over the hard packed earth, and the segments of their armored shells grated against each other. One of the demons flipped the corpse almost effortlessly, and Castiel blinked his surprise at the strength contained in its seemingly spindly legs. The second began making a circuit of the room, searching for the culprit responsible for the murder. Castiel clenched his jaw, his chest tight, pressing himself into the wall, but the Wyrm passed by him without notice, and Castiel bit back a sigh of relief. 

The two Wyrms hoisted the body between them, carrying it back into the tunnel and disappearing from Castiel’s senses. He waited a few breaths, then sagged away from the wall, gasping, his head swimming. They hadn’t seen him, hadn’t even noticed he was there. Maybe they thought he escaped, or maybe they didn’t realize there was a second person in the prison that had previously contained only one. Maybe they blamed Dean for the death. Castiel shook his head, focusing.

The opening in the wall that led into the tunnels beyond was wide open and empty now. Dean was down there, somewhere. Castiel plunged into the darkness without hesitation. If the Wyrms blamed Dean for the killing, they might hurt him, hostage or not. Dean said they were spiteful. Castiel had to hurry.

After a few minutes of walking, the light from the hole in the ceiling faded and Castiel was engulfed in heavy pitch darkness. He stumbled and stubbed his toes over rocks jutting up from the tunnel floor, always keeping one hand pressed onto a wall. The darkness seemed to press on his eyes; he felt blindfolded and he brushed his fingers across his face to make sure his eyes were open. 

The tunnel was blessedly empty, and unnervingly quiet. His breath sounded loud in the enclosed space. He followed the tunnel on and on, then stopped suddenly when the space around him abruptly widened, his hand almost losing its touch on the wall. Castiel groped forward, mapping the space around him by touch alone. He worked out that he was at an intersection of some sort, several other tunnels converging at this one point, branching off at various angles and slopes. At a loss, he chose a narrow path that sloped gently downward.

As he struggled through a seeming eternity of sightless travel, Castiel almost didn’t notice when the faint outlines of walls and floors becoming steadily more discernable. A few more steps, and Castiel identified the source of the light - luminescent fungus, growing at random intervals up the walls, giving off a faint, greenish glow. It was weirdly beautiful, and despite his anger and worry and fear, Castiel felt a wave of wonder at the sight.

Down and down Castiel walked, his eyes struggling against the darkness that was sometimes lit by the glow of the fungus, and sometimes was absolute, leaving him stumbling and clinging to the surprisingly smooth walls of the tunnels. The floor sloped continuously downward, away from escape. Castiel was surprised the thud of his heart wasn’t audible in the confined space.

He started to hear sounds, and if he thought the oppressive silence was bad, the sounds were worse. They were barely there clicks and scrabblings, scraping and grating noises that he couldn’t quite tell the source of. He couldn’t tell if the noises where coming from below him, or behind him, or through the walls themselves. His skin prickled and his eyes strained uselessly.

It was in one of the dark patches of tunnel that he heard the voice and promptly smacked his injured shoulder into the wall. He swallowed back a yelp of pain and surprise, his tired eyes suddenly stinging with tears. He concentrated on his ears. It was soft, he almost missed it. The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere a little to the right and down, as if he was standing in the second floor of a house and listening to a conversation in the room below him. Castiel couldn’t make out the muffled words, but it was definitely a human voice. He imagined Dean scolding him for banging up his shoulder further.

He knew Dean was alive, and close. Frustratingly close. The tunnels all seemed interconnected, but there were no clues to indicate which paths he should take. Castiel leaned against the wall, listening to the muffled murmur, clenching his jaw to fight the urge to make his own sounds, to yell to Dean, to shout his anger, to reassure Dean that he was coming, to scream his frustration. He couldn’t risk the Wyrms hearing him and dragging him back to the surface, away from Dean and the chance to save him.

The scraping sounds were back, louder, drowning out the comforting sound of Dean’s voice, and Castiel felt a current of air brush against his face as something large moved through the tunnel. Every hair on his body stood on end, he pressed himself flat against the wall, held his breath, and prayed. He didn’t think the Wyrms could see, it might miss him the same way the demon in the prison had. It was gone in a heartbeat, slithering by without noticing or caring about his presence. No other Wyrms descended on him, so he threw himself down the tunnel after the Wyrm before he could overthink. He didn’t know why the Wyrms were unable to detect him, but as long as it continued to work, the why didn’t matter. For now, Castiel latched on to the fact that he did not know where he was going, but the Wyrm did.

He followed mostly by sound, the Wyrm’s legs clicking rhythmically against the dirt and stone of the tunnels as it moved quickly and confidently. Its senses did not seem sharp enough to notice it was being followed. Castiel almost had to jog to keep up, his two legs not quite as efficient as the Wyrm’s many pairs. He followed the monster through several intersections, through tunnels that sometimes led up, sometimes down, sometimes changing their slope suddenly and dramatically. The Wyrm never seemed to hesitate to choose which tunnel to take. Castiel wondered if there was some sort of markings on the tunnels that indicated their direction, or if the Wyrms just memorized them like a map. The tunnel bent around a sharp corner, and miraculously, there was the voice again.

It was louder this time, just off to his left, just on the other side of this wall. The words were still unclear, but the tone was as inexplicably cheerful as ever. Castiel realized that in his momentary pause, the Wyrm he was tailing had disappeared completely from his senses, but he didn’t mourn the loss. If he could just get through this wall, somehow, Dean was right there. 

He smacked a frustrated fist into the wall, harder than he intended, shaking his hand from the sting. The voice on the other side of the wall cut off abruptly, ominously. Castiel froze. Dean knew he was here. Dean had been talking and Castiel hadn’t paused to think about exactly  who Dean was talking to. Maybe a Wyrm, maybe another prisoner. Maybe Dean didn’t want Castiel charging after him.  The Wyrms would most likely know Castiel was here; he should get away. Castiel’s expression hardened. He absolutely was not going to spend the rest of his life - which would be quite short, since he had nothing resembling food or water down here - wandering lost and alone through Wyrm-infested tunnels. Dean was right there, so close, if only he could get through the wall to him.

Castiel smacked his fist against the wall again. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, it’s not like he could punch through solid rock. Again, deliberately now, he threw his hand against the wall, ignoring the dull ache that was forming in his knuckles. This time, he was answered by a bout of uncomfortable scraping and grinding sounds that made his stomach turn uneasily. He turned to glance down the tunnel, expecting to see a Wyrm coming towards him, but instead, the wall in front of him burst open.

Castiel gasped, staggering back a surprised step. A Wyrm was wriggling through the hole in the wall, straight at him, its jaws grinding down over a mouthful of dirt and rock, its heavy weight slamming into him, his breath punching out of him as he hit the opposite wall. The Wyrm pinned him against the wall, swallowing its mouthful of gravel, preparing its jaws to crush the man as easily as it had crushed hard, frozen stone.

Castiel struggled, grunting, but it was useless to try and  wriggle from beneath the Wyrm’s massive bulk. Instead, Castiel reached inside his coat, and his hand closed around his knife. He drew out the shining silver length, flipping it in his hand, clenching the handle tightly. The Wyrm growled, opening its jaws, and Castiel narrowed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and thrust the blade hard, in and up.

The Wyrm’s mouth stayed wide, its jaw going slack, the blade of the knife lodged through the roof of its mouth. The carcass slid heavily down, thudding against the floor. Castiel wrinkled his nose as he yanked his knife out of the carcass, rubbing the blade clean on his pant leg. He took a moment to admire the unusual sheen of the weapon, visible even in the faint light of the glowing fungus.  You’re going to need this , the old woman had said.

“Cas?” Dean’s breathless voice called out tentatively. Castiel looked up, saw him peering with wide eyes through the hole in the wall. The corners of Castiel’s mouth lifted when he realized that he had gotten through the wall, after all. Castiel grabbed Dean’s shoulder and roughly hauled him through the wall.

“Come on,” Castiel ordered, and pulled him through the tunnel, sprinting back in the direction he had come down minutes before, praying they wouldn’t run into any Wyrms.

“What are you doing?” Dean panted, shifting his arm so that their hands were clasped instead of Castiel dragging him by the arm, interlacing their fingers and holding on tightly.

“Rescuing you,” Castiel growled, “I said I would help you get out of here, right?” Dean said nothing, but when Castiel glanced back again, Dean was staring at him with awe.

They were lucky. That was all, and Castiel knew it. Only once had a Wyrm barreled down the tunnel, heading straight for them at a speed that awed Castiel, but Castiel tugged Dean into a side tunnel and wrapped around him in the darkness as the Wyrm skittered past. They moved through tunnels, as quick and quiet as they could, clinging to each other's hands, until finally Castiel felt a tug on his arm and look back to realize that Dean had stopped. Dean released his hand as he sank down to sit on the floor of the tunnel, outlined by the faint light from another small, distant hole open in the ceiling above them, the near-dark indicating it was probably nighttime in the world above.

“I can’t run any more,” Dean groaned, “Let’s rest. They’re not coming after us. Or if they are, I think we lost them.” Now that Castiel wasn’t running anymore, he was able to appreciate the complete silence that now surrounded them. He sat down across from Dean, trying to make out his features in the darkness.

“What was all that?” Dean asked quietly. “That Wyrm was carrying you out, and then all of a sudden you were busting through walls and being all alpha warrior.” Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, self-consciousness creeping in as adrenaline drained out of him.

“I wasn’t going to just leave you down here,” Castiel admitted. “I heard your voice through the wall, and I just -” he finished his sentence with an embarrassed shrug. Dean was staring at him, and he shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze.

“That was your opportunity to get out. You should have escaped,” Dean admonished roughly.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was low and serious, staring deep into Dean’s eyes. “You deserve to be saved, too.” Dean swallowed and looked down.

“That was incredible,” Dean finally said. “Thank you.”

Castiel shrugged again. “Well, it looks like we’re right back where we started.”

“Except without the benefit of the bigger hole in the ceiling,” Dean joked, a weak smile lighting up his haggard face. Castiel’s scowl turned into a smile, amazed that Dean still kept his good humor. 

“You’re definitely warming up to the bad jokes,” Dean said, watching Castiel’s face with warm, bright eyes. Castiel flushed, again grateful for the concealment of the pale moonlight.

“You’re admitting they’re bad,” Castiel responded.

“Yep. Awful. And I’m gonna keep telling ‘em, as long as you keep smiling at ‘em,” Dean winked. Castiel smiled shyly. “I like it when you smile,” Dean added, quieter. Their eyes met for a long heartbeat before Dean looked away.

Castiel rubbed his arms, his body cooling rapidly after the fear-fueled run. His whole body was sore and aching, he was hungry, and desperately thirsty, and exhausted. He pulled his knees into his chest and laid his head down on them with a moan.

Something nudged at his arm, and he lifted his chin to see Dean holding out his water skin. Castiel took the skin, and held the opening to his lips, gasping gratefully when icy cold water trickled down his throat. He tried not to drink too much, saving the precious liquid, handing the skin back to Dean, who took a sip as well.

Dean lifted himself up and shifted across the tunnel so they were sitting side by side. Castiel instinctively leaned in towards his warmth. This close, Castiel could see the fine lines around Dean’s eyes, formed by many bright smiles, and the faintest dimple in his chin. Dean lifted an eyebrow when he noticed Castiel studying him, but said nothing.

“You’re tired,” Dean said, looking back at him with a soft expression. “Rest for a while, try to sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

Castiel tried to protest, but Dean just chuckled. “You just killed a Wyrm to rescue me. With a fucked up shoulder and a concussion. I think I can manage to watch over you for a while, and I  know  that you deserve some rest. Go to sleep, Cas.”

Castiel watched him for another long moment, then leaned his head back down to his knees, holding himself close for warmth, and closed his eyes.

~~

Castiel’s left side was warm, his right side was cold, his butt was painfully sore, and he had a stiff crick in his neck. He moaned and opened his eyes, lifting his head from where it was resting on Dean’s shoulder, Castiel’s left side pressed against Dean’s right. He rocked from side to side a little, trying to shift weight off of the spots of pain where the points of his pelvis pressed into the hard ground. Looking over at Dean, he noticed that the other man was leaning back against the wall, his chin tucked to his chest, arms resting lightly over his belly, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and slow. Castiel frowned and poked him in the ribs.

“I’m awake,” the man rumbled, but his eyes remained closed.

“Some guard you are,” Castiel scoffed. Dean lifted one eyelid to glare balefully.

“I have excellent reflexes,” he said dryly, then closed the eye again. “You can go back to sleep.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes, and pushed himself to his feet, groaning as joints popped and his extremities tingled. He rubbed his stiff neck. Dean growled grumpily at the sudden loss of warmth along his side.

“Think they’re looking for us?” Castiel asked, peering down the dark tunnel. Dean sighed, resigning himself to getting up. He stretched out his arms and legs languidly, his deliberate, lazy movements and the roll of his muscles forcefully reminding Castiel that he had been raised by wolves.

“Don’t know. I think you made them mad, though.”

Castiel winced. Dean laughed, the sound booming through the tunnel.

“They’ll hear you!” Castiel hissed, shushing him and looking around, panicked.

“All the more motivation to escape, huh?”

“You need extra motivation?”

“Can’t hurt. Don’t worry, Wyrms aren’t exactly great trackers. No eyes, barely any ears.”

“Hmm. I noticed.”

“Yeah, so I never got the whole story of what happened before my whole daring rescue,” Dean said, leaning against a wall and looking at Castiel pointedly. Castiel related the events, from the killing of the first Wyrm and the stumbling journey through the tunnels, to the hearing of Dean’s voice and the resulting fight and second death. Dean listened quietly, concentration focused on Castiel.

“I just did what was necessary,” Castiel insisted as he finished his story. Dean snorted

“‘What was necessary’? Cas, I guarantee you that saving my ass was not necessary. You were badass and you know it,” Dean insisted.

“You have spent too much time with wolves. Not everyone feels the need to constantly flaunt their dominance over peers,” Castiel countered.

“You’re admitting you’re dominant, then?” Dean grinned wolfishly.

“I said no such thing.”

“C’mon you don’t need to do the whole ‘yeah, I’m a badass, but I’m also modest, so let’s pretend like I’m not’, routine.” 

“I would never-”

“It’s ok, I already know how awesome you are.” Dean claps his palm onto Castiel’s shoulder companionably, and maybe the hand lingers a little longer than strictly necessary. Castiel shakes his head and gives up.

“You haven’t shared your side of the story,” Castiel reminds him, and Dean grimaces.

“Nothing to tell, really. I didn’t do anything cool, like you. I saw you get grabbed, then all of a sudden I was being dragged back into the tunnel. Dragged me around a while, think I may have blacked out at one point. When I woke up, I was down in that room with an angry Wyrm glaring at me. Then you bust through a wall."

"The Wyrm broke down the wall, not me," Castiel corrects. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Same difference. Wall came down and there you were."

"I heard you talking," Castiel ventured, a little nervous as he remembered his earlier misgivings about who Dean might have been conversing with.

"I was bored. Wanted to see if that demon guarding me would tell me anything about what they were planning," Dean explained.

"You speak the Wyrm language?" Castiel blinked. "What did it say?"

"I dunno, couldn't understand anything. Don’t speak the language." Dean shrugged and grinned flippantly.

"Then what exactly was the point of attempting to converse?"

"Hey, it was worth a try."

"You hoped you would spontaneously learn the Wyrm language?" Castiel's brow furrowed and Dean laughed.

"Hey, you were magically transported here, so anything could happen, right?"

Castiel’s gut twisted a little and he looked away. “You’re making fun of me.”

Dean’s smile dropped off at those words, and he placed his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, looking him in the eye seriously

“No,” Dean said, sincerely. “I might joke about a lot of things, but I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why don’t you think I’m crazy? I think I’m crazy.” Castiel looked down, the admission had been weighing on him since he first woke up staring at a giant, legendary talking wolf.

“You don’t seem crazy.” Castiel looked up and stared at him.

“Let me get this straight. You don’t think I’m crazy because,” he paused, taking a breath, quirking his eyebrows, “I don’t  seem  crazy?”

“I have excellent instincts,” Dean reassured him with a nod.

Castiel laughed. It burst out of him, loud and uncontrollable, shaking his gut and his shoulders, making his cheeks hurt with the unfamiliar effort. Dean grinned, his eyes bright with the sound. Castiel's laughter rang dully in the underground space, filling it with sudden warmth. As the echoes died down, another sound replaced it, the unnervingly soft clicks and scrapes of Wyrms moving through the tunnels.

“I think they heard that,” Castiel gulped, his face burning.

"Guess that's our cue to get moving," Dean declared, reaching for Castiel's hand to tug him down the tunnel, away from the sound of the Wyrms. Castiel didn't protest when Dean didn't let go.

“So, fearless warrior, did you dream up a brilliant escape plan during your nap?” Dean asked after a few minutes of walking, giving him a teasing grin, and Castiel glared in return.

“Why am I the one who has to come up with the plan? What did you come up with?”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Dean pointed out.

“And clearly one can’t think when they’re awake,” Castiel deadpanned sarcastically. Dean chuckled.

“I was protecting you!”

“With your eyes closed.”

“It’s too dark for eyes to be very useful, anyway.”

“I’m still not hearing a reason for you not coming up with any ideas for escaping.”

“Geez, you really do just like to argue,” Dean shook his head.

“I do not -” Castiel started to argue, then snapped his mouth shut, contenting himself with another dark glare. Dean laughed, low and warm.

“I like you, man.” Dean’s declaration came out of nowhere and Castiel stared at him. Dean stared back with a slight smirk. “You laugh at my jokes.”

“Your jokes are terrible,” Castiel pointed out.

“Yeah, and you laugh at them.”

“I… do not…”

“Admit it. You think I’m pun-y.”

“Dean, that’s awful.”

“You love it.”

“I -” Castiel flushed red and glanced down. The fungus lighting their path started to thin, blackness closing in as they continued down the tunnel.

“Cas?” Dean said tentatively, his eyes flicking to his companion briefly as the light faded. Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand. “Don’t let go, ok? I don’t want to lose you in the dark.”

Castiel just hummed his assent and let Dean pull him in a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said after a moment of silence. “I didn’t mean to offend you, or anything.”

“No, Dean, I’m sorry.” Castiel sighed. Darkness swallowed them completely, and not being able to see the other man seemed to give Castiel a boost of courage. “My people skills are rusty. I haven’t - since my father died - I have been alone for quite some time now,” Castiel stumbled over his words.

“What about your pack?” Dean asked quietly.

“The wolves in my pack can’t speak. The first real conversation I’ve had in - months, at least - was with your family when I arrived here,” Castiel admitted. Dean gently squeezed Castiel’s hand again.

“Yeah, well, they’re pretty great, huh,” Dean attempting to keep his tone light. Castiel smiled.

“Yes, they are. Your mother was surprisingly accommodating, and I enjoyed spending time with your brother.”

“Don’t let Sammy know, you’ll never get rid of him,” Dean joked.

“So, in response to your earlier statement, yes, I love your terrible jokes,” Castiel said roughly, blessing the cover of darkness. He held his breath for a silent second that felt like hours.

“Would you compare me to a mushroom?” 

“What?” Castiel blinked, almost tripping over his feet in his surprise at the random comment.

“You know, ‘cause I’m a  fun-gi ?” Dean chuckled. Castiel made a strangled noise that was half-laugh, half-groan. “If I was a fruit, would you say that I’m a- peel -ing?” 

“Puns? Really, Dean?”

“In my  op-onion , it’s  fruitless to complain. You think they’re  grape .” Dean playfully knocked his shoulder against Castiel’s in the dark.

“Ow. That was my injured shoulder,” Castiel growled with fake menace, although his shoulder did ache from the jostling.

“Oh shit. Sorry,” Dean apologized hurriedly. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel reassured him, leaning in to brush their shoulders more gently. The light was starting to come back as a new patch of mushrooms began to crawl up the walls around them. When Castiel looked over, he could see the soft smile lighting Dean’s face, and he felt a smile of his own pulling at the corners of his lips.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, close enough that Castiel could feel the heat radiating off of Dean’s body, hands loosely intertwined, catching each other when they stumbled in the dark. Twice they encountered Wyrms scurrying through the tunnels, but managed to avoid detection, as long as they were still and quiet. It was almost laughably easy to make their way through the underground labyrinth, if only they had a clue as to which way to go. 

When they reached their third intersection, Dean groaned in frustration, dropping Castiel’s hand and running fingers through his own hair. 

“This is fucking impossible,” Dean moaned, looking down each of the two tunnels facing them. The glowing mushrooms grew thickly where the tunnels converged, but died out only a few feet in, leaving the length of the tunnel shrouded in black.

“If one of the Wyrms somehow left a trail, we could follow it out,” Castiel pondered out loud, frowning as he peered down the tunnel closest to him.

“‘If’, Cas. All you got is ‘ifs’. Wishful thinking is gonna get us exactly nowhere,” Dean snapped irritably. 

“At least I am not resigning myself to an unpleasant fate,” Castiel sniffed. 

“I’m not resigning anything!” Dean thumped his palm against a wall, shaking loose a few mushrooms, whose glow died as they touched the ground. Dean contemplated the fungus. “Wonder if they’re edible,” he murmured. Castiel wrinkled his nose.

“We won’t be down here long enough to find out,” Castiel stated determinedly. 

“Always arguing.” Dean’s voice was fond, and he smiled at Castiel weakly. 

“You said the same to me, remember?” Castiel looked into Dean’s face, his eyes firm and focused, before turning away to study the small tunnel to his left. “This one goes up,” Castiel pointed out. 

The rough passageway looked small and unfinished, as opposed to the wide, smooth tunnels they had been walking through. It was narrow, barely large enough to fit one man at a time, but it did slope sharply upward at a steep angle.

“I dunno, man.” Dean eyed the roughly hewn rock doubtfully. Castiel marched forward.

“Hey, wait!” Dean caught the sleeve of his jacket, and Castiel tugged it away gently, glancing back at the other man.

“Now is not the time to be cautious, Dean. We are going to get out of here,” Castiel said. Dean followed him mutely into the tunnel.

There were no glowing fungi growing on the newly dug walls of this tunnel, and everything was pitch dark. Dean pressed in close to Castiel’s back, and every once in a while Castiel could even feel the man’s breath mist across the back of his neck. The tunnel continued upward, until all of a sudden there was open air above them. Another hole opened in the ceiling, and looking up, Castiel despaired when he realized exactly how deep underground they were. The faint light drifting in from above revealed another disaster - the tunnel was a dead end.

Castiel blinked at the solid, blank wall in front of them, listening as Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered. Castiel slumped forward, his shoulders curling in, leaning his head onto the stone in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel choked out. Dean sucked in a little breath, then Castiel felt his warm bulk pressing up against his back, and his arms snaking around his waist.

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” Dean murmured into the back of his neck. “You’re trying. You’re making  me try. We’re gonna do this.”

Castiel nodded, allowing himself to lean back into Dean’s embrace, just for a second. Dean jerked, suddenly, and Castiel pulled away, startled, before he realized what Dean was reacting to. A familiar clicking, scraping sound, loud.  Descending on them. Castiel looked up.

The Wyrm was crawling straight down the vertical shaft towards them. The only place they could go was back down the unfinished tunnel, and even then, there was no way they could outrun the inhuman speed of the demon. Castiel pushed Dean back with a stiff arm and reached into his jacket with the other.

“What are you doing?” Dean cried as Castiel roughly herded him back towards the dark tunnel. Castiel did not reply, only gripped the handle of his knife, the blade flashing in the light from above.

Castiel did not hesitate when the Wyrm came into striking range, but unlike his previous two victims, this one sensed him coming. His first strike glanced off of armored plates, and he was rewarded with a bruising blow from one of the monster’s legs. Castiel vaguely sensed that Dean was shouting something behind him, but he was too focused on the task at hand to take notice. His second slash with the knife sliced off a leg, and the Wyrm let out a gravelly scream. Its vengeful charge forward was all Castiel needed to feint to the side and slide his blade into the creature’s side, making a long, neat slice that spilled dark, dripping fluids onto the ground around his feet.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you crazy bastard!” Dean was yelling. Castiel shook the worst of the gore off his knife before wiping it clean on his already ruined pants, then looked up at Dean in surprise.

“I am defending us,” Castiel said. Dean gaped at him, slackjawed.

“You think there’s any chance in hell that the other demons down here didn’t notice that?”

A stab of guilt shot through Castiel’s gut. He looked down at the leaking corpse next to him. Something clicked in his brain.

“Dean,” he started cautiously, “remember how you wanted me to think of a plan?”

“Yeah…” Dean frowned at his companion.

“I think I may have thought of something.”

~~

“This is a spectacularly terrible plan.”

“At least someone came up with a plan,” Castiel retorted. Dean shook his head, hunching down next to Castiel. Castiel glanced at him. “You need to get out of here.”

“Right,” Dean agreed, but didn’t move. Castiel shifted to look him in the eye.

“I won’t leave you,” Castiel growled, fierce. Dean smiled, soft and warm.

“I know.”

“I won’t leave you,” Castiel said again, softer, quieter, staring deep into Dean’s eyes, as if he could somehow lodge the words directly into the man’s brain.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Dean whispered.

Castiel heaved in a deep breath, closing his eyes, and suddenly there were lips pressing against his, soft, dry, a little cold. Castiel didn’t move, simply waited as he felt their lips slowly melt from chilled to warm, dry to moist, molding together gently. Dean pulled away, leaning his forehead against Castiel’s, his breath puffing against Castiel’s lips.

“For luck.” 

When Castiel opened his eyes, Dean was already gone. 

The plan relied on several assumptions. First, was that the Wyrms had heard Castiel’s latest battle with their brethren and would come to inspect the aftermath. The second was based off of Castiel’s observation of the disposal of the first body he was responsible for. They Wyrms had carried that corpse away, through the tunnels, presumably to be disposed of outside, and Castiel felt that this one would be treated likewise. Next, Castiel assumed that he could accompany the dead body in its passage to the outside world. He would try and conceal himself on top of, or underneath the carcass as it was dragged out. If the Wyrms discovered him, they might assume he was dead as well, or if they realized he was alive, take the opportunity to get him out of the tunnels as they seemed to want to do earlier. If Dean was detected, however, he would inevitably be carried off to be put under another guard and detained as a prisoner again, alive or dead. Dean would have to remain hidden. So the last assumption was that Castiel could leave a trail for Dean to follow.

This is a spectacularly terrible plan , Castiel moaned mentally, draping himself over the dead Wyrm’s back, trying not to gag at the feel of the smooth, hard segments underneath him. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited.

He counted his heartbeats as they seemed to shake his ribs with their pounding. He lost count somewhere around 103, and started again. 1...2...3… Nothing happened. Castiel hoped that Dean had made it back down the tunnel and found a hiding place. 67...68...69… Dean had kissed him.  For luck , he said. 81...82… Dean smelled like earth and pine and wolves. Castiel lost his count again.

Castiel was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the sound of the Wyrms until they were surrounding him. Castiel tried not to breathe. There were three of them, and they swarmed around the enclosed space, inspecting the dead body. If they noticed Castiel, they didn’t seem to care. They lifted the dead Wyrm, and then Castiel was flying through the tunnel, faster than he would have believed possible. Castiel gasped, and clutched at the corpse’s waving legs before he could slide off.

Now for the rest of the plan. Castiel squeezed his thighs around the back of the Wyrm to hold himself in place and wiggled his knife out of the front of his coat. He pushed up the sleeve covering his opposite arm, took a deep breath, and slid the blade of the knife across his forearm, hissing from the sting. Blood began to drip from the shallow cut instantly. He tucked his knife away again, and let his injured arm hang, drops of blood slowly splashing to the ground as the Wyrms carried him away.

The tunnels seemed to go on forever in more impossible twists and turns than Castiel could have imagined at his previous, slow meandering pace. The all paths they were following now were sloping steadily upwards. Light suddenly burst over Castiel, blinding him, and his grip on the Wyrm slipped. There was a rumbling noise above him, and something cold beneath him. Then there was silence.

Castiel curled up, cradling his head in his hands, shielding his eyes from the painful brightness around him. Slowly the pain faded and snow became visible underneath him. He let out a strangled sob as his mouth pulled up into an unbidden smile. He had done it. His plan had worked. Now Dean just had to follow the path he had marked in his own blood, and they would both be free. He lifted his head to see where he was, but the light was everywhere, reflecting off the snow, still too painful, so Castiel ducked his head back down as he maneuvered into a more comfortable seated position. 

Castiel waited. Every few minutes he checked on his vision, little by little he managed to get a glimpse around him before needing to close his eyes against the sunlight. He was next to the river, practically right on top of it. The hole the Wyrms had dumped him out of was cut out of the bank, low enough to be easily overlooked. He glared at the ice - if it melted, they would have had a trickle of water to follow out. But, on second thought, the ice melt would not be a trickle, it would be a flood, and Castiel shivered at the thought of those dark tunnels slowly filling with ice cold water.

He wasn’t sure where along the river he was, but he could see the trees of the forest on the other side of the broad stretch of ice. He shot longing glances towards the shaded ground under the pines, but he couldn’t leave his place, he wouldn’t leave Dean behind. Dean was right behind him, he said he would be.

Thirst and hunger began to rear their ugly heads after the first few hours. Castiel resigned himself to a mouthful of snow, letting it melt over his tongue and trickle down his throat as he waited for Dean to emerge from underground. He would have to wait for the coast to be clear and make sure now Wyrms were following him, accounting for the delay, Castiel reasoned.

The sun began to set a few hours later and Castiel finally admitted that he was worried. The splatters of his blood along the earth and stone underground would be dry by now, harder to see, especially only by the light of some glowing fungus. There was still no sign of Dean.

Darkness closed in, and Castiel heard wolves. The pack once again took up its lonely howl for its lost son, not too far from where Castiel was sitting. He shivered, damp from sitting in snow, cold with the loss of heat from the sun. He curled up around himself again, leaning against the body of the dead Wyrm, which had been tossed alongside him.

“I won’t leave you,” Castiel whispered, his eyes fixed on the dark opening to the tunnel. “I won’t.”

Castiel couldn’t feel his fingers and his breath was painful as frozen air dragged through his nostrils. He was lying down in the snow, curled up, hugging his knees to his chest, and shaking. He blinked sleepily at the hole in front of him.

“Dean,” Castiel muttered.

“Castiel?”

“Dean,” Castiel called back, but his voice was too rough and low to be heard. Suddenly there was warmth over him, and a wet nose snuffling at his face.

“Oh shit,” the voice murmured. Castiel blinked blearily up at thick, red fur. “Castiel? Are you ok? What happened?”

Too many questions. Castiel didn’t want to answer questions, he just wanted to sleep. But he had to wait for Dean first.

“Dean?” Castiel’s mind could only grasp onto that one thing. The wolf whined, soft and sad.

“No, it’s me, Sam,” the voice said. Sam. Dean’s brother. 

A large paw was rolling him over, and a nose was pushing him onto a broad, furry surface. Castiel clenched his fingers into the fur, rubbing his face in the warmth, his skin burning with the change in temperature. 

“No, I can’t leave Dean,” Castiel protested, even as he wrapped his arms around the wolf’s neck as he stood, balancing the man on his back.

“We won’t,” Sam promised, and Castiel allowed himself to go limp and be carried back to the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what I meant about the puns? Awful. Don't worry, there's more of that later.
> 
> I gagged a little at the cuteness while writing this. I never write romance, it was a new experience. Curse these two for being so adorable with each other!
> 
> If you like totally random non sequiturs, you might enjoy my [Tumblr](http://jailikechai.tumblr.com/).


	5. Breaking Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas could really use some of that angel healing mojo. Sorry, babe.

Castiel's body was on fire. Not literally, of course, but it felt true as sensation slowly crept back into frozen limbs. For once Castiel’s body resisted unconsciousness, which would have been a welcome reprieve. He whimpered quietly and clung to Sam's thick fur.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked as they wound between tall, silent trees. "What happened?"

"I... fell..." Castiel managed to rasp. He could sense Sam's curiosity and frustration, but Castiel's attention was focused on the burning sensations spreading over more and more of his body.

Castiel had no idea how long they had been travelling when Sam gently rolled him onto the ground in front of a low-burning fire. The wolf sniffed him up and down, his expression concerned.

"I think you have mild hypothermia. How long were you out there?"

"I had to wait for Dean," Castiel said as answer. He didn't know himself how much time had passed between being cast out into the snow and Sam discovering him.

"Yeah, you keep saying that." Sam swallowed. "Where is Dean? How did you meet him? Why was there a dead Wyrm out there with you? Castiel, what happened?"

"Sam?" A quiet voice interrupted Sam's increasingly panicked questions. Castiel looked around, and saw Ben peeking out the front of the little wooden structure he and Lisa called home. The boy rubbed his eyes, blinking sleepily at the wolf. Then he caught sight of Castiel, curled up on the ground, and Ben froze.

"Mom!" Ben's voice shook, and he ducked back inside the house. He reemerged seconds later, Lisa's wrist caught in his eager hands. Lisa gasped when she saw Castiel, sleep flying from her face.

"Castiel!" Lisa rushed to tug the man into her arms. Castiel felt something catch deep in his chest as Lisa pulled him close. He never considered that anyone would be worried about him after his fall. 

Lisa pulled back with a frown, examining Castiel, then abruptly started tugging his coat off and motioning for Ben to tackle his boots. Castiel jerked away with a protest that was swallowed back when Lisa fixed him with an icy glare. All of Castiel's damp outerwear was soon stripped off, and he was wrapped in layers of thick, dry blankets instead. Lisa stoked the fire and Ben rushed off to fetch a pot of water, and several nondescript clay jars. Sam watched the activity timidly from the edge of the clearing. The sun was just rising.

Once Castiel was seated near the fire in his blanket cocoon, a cup of hot tea cradled in his hands, the fire on his skin fading to a dull ache near his bones, Sam cautiously crept closer. 

"Are you... better?" Sam asked tentatively. Lisa give Sam an accusing look. Sam cowered under her glare as readily as Castiel. "It wasn't my fault! I didn't do anything, I swear!" Sam protested. Lisa looked unimpressed.

"I am feeling better, thank you," Castiel assured them both. Lisa smiled at him.

"You fell," Ben piped up, his eyes wide as he fixed his attention on the older man.

"Yes." Castiel could see that all three individuals in front of him were waiting for a story. "Yes, I fell. On Dean."

"Dean," Lisa breathed, leaning in towards Castiel, emotion filling her eyes. Castiel's gaze slid away from the woman, a quiet thrum that couldn’t possibly be jealousy buzzing within him.

"He was imprisoned by the Wyrms, and I the place where I fell through was his cell." Castiel related the story, from waking up to Dean's cheerful voice to his dizzying escape on the back of a dead Wyrm. Lisa and Ben listened attentively, although from their expressions it was clear that they couldn't understand most of what he was saying. The basic jist of the story seemed to get through, however. Sam, on the other had, followed every word.

"So, you're saying that Dean could be following that trail out right now? He can escape?" Sam was tense and his fur nearly quivering with anticipation.

"Yes, he can escape," Castiel affirmed, pushing away the doubts that shadowed his thoughts.

"We have to go find him! Help him!" Sam leapt to his feet.

"That's what I was doing," Castiel grumbled. Sam gave him a withering look.   
  
"You wouldn't be much help if you died from exposure." Sam paused, cocking his head thoughtfully and regarding Castiel. "Why do you care so much, anyway? I mean, you were actually going to  die  waiting for my brother in the middle of a snowbank."

"I -" Castiel's mind drifts back to a press of lips in the dark. "I liked his jokes." Castiel finished weakly. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Oh god. He didn't tell you the one about the pie and the snake, did he?"

"Oh. Yes. He also had a variety of fruit and vegetable related puns."

Sam groaned.

"I am so sorry. No one should have to listen to that for two straight days."

Two days? It had felt like a few hours down in the endless dark in the tunnels. It felt like Castiel had know Dean for years.

"Let's go," Castiel said, shedding blankets as he stood. Lisa blocked him, pushing his shoulder until Castiel sank back to his former seat. The woman pointed at the wolf.

"Sam. Dean." She looked down at Castiel. "Castiel stay. Get warm."

"She's right," Sam agreed. "You need to recover. I can go after Dean. If he made it out of the tunnel, I'll find him."

"If I can't go," Castiel growled, "why don't you call the pack to help?"

"Ah." Sam looked away with a slight squirm. "I kind of had a fight with my dad. And I - uh - ran away. That's why I was out on my own last night."

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he glared blackly at Sam. 

"Your parents will want to know about Dean, and the pack will want to help," Castiel pointed out.

"Yeah, well, my dad wanted to give up on Dean and write him off as dead," Sam snapped back. Castiel jerked back, as if struck. Sam's eyes softened. "That's why we fought. No way am I gonna let some bitch-ass demons take my brother."

Castiel sighed. "I will return to the pack, you look for Dean."

"Castiel, it's ok. You're right, I should go back," Sam protested weakly. Castiel shook his head.

"If Dean made it out of the tunnel while since we left, he may need assistance, as I did. You need to look for him. I can handle the pack."

"But, my dad -"

"I can handle your father," Castiel said, his eyes flashing at the thought of the wolf who would abandon his own son. Sam swallowed and nodded. Castiel looked at Ben and Lisa, who were watching the conversation curiously. "Lisa, can you take me to the wolf pack?"

"Yes!" Ben exclaimed, before his mother could even draw breath. Lisa let out a light huff of amusement.

"Yes, Castiel, wolves." Lisa smiled at him. "Sam - Dean?"

Sam nodded. He nuzzled Lisa's shoulder affectionately.

"Don't worry, we'll get Dean back," Sam assured the woman. She nodded and leaned into his touch. Castiel watched the exchange and ignored the unidentifiable emotions swirling through him.

~~

Lisa made Castiel drink another full cup of tea and eat a chewy strip of dried venison before she let him start the walk to the pack. Ben asked questions about Dean with wide, worried eyes, which Castiel answered with as much reassurance as he could muster. Lisa gave him sly, sideways glances every time he said Dean’s name.

The journey through the forest was uneventful. Golden morning sunshine floated between the branches of the trees and the air was clean and pine-scented and delightfully fresh after several days in stuffy underground tunnels. It was cool, but not frigid, and it had been a week since the last snowfall, so the ground beneath the trees was mostly bare, dry earth and a shifting carpet of fallen needles. Lisa led the way, and Ben pointed out a variety of observances - a bird’s nest in a low hanging branch, rabbit tracks through a patch of soft mud, a bizarrely shaped tree that was related to some story about Dean that Castiel wasn’t able to follow.

Castiel was shocked when they reached the clearing in front of the den much sooner than he expected. Lisa hung back, holding Ben’s hand to keep him from charging forward. They did not fear the wolves, but they were cautious around the giant hunters. Heads swiveled the moment Castiel became visible between the trees. One giant figure raced forward from the far edge of the clearing - actually leaping over one dozing elderly wolf - and landed in front of Castiel. A wet nose was thrust in his face and he was thoroughly scented up and down.

“It  is you,” Mary said, blinking down at the man. “John said you fell.” Her tone was almost accusing. 

“I did.” 

Mary nudged Castiel forward, and noticing Lisa and Ben hanging back shyly, wound around them and encouraged them into the clearing with the pack as well.

“Sit,” Mary commanded, doing just that and fixing her gaze on Castiel. “Explain.”

“I fell. Down, into the Wyrm tunnels.”

“People who fall into the tunnels don’t come back,” Mary said, narrowing her yellow eyes.

“I had help.” Castiel swallowed, meeting her eyes and holding a solemn stare. “Dean.”

Mary’s body went tense, and for a moment Castiel panicked that she might pounce on him. 

“You saw Dean.” Her voice was nothing more than a rough whisper. Other wolves were creeping in closer, ears perked to catch his words.

“Yes.”

“Is he - is he alright?” If Mary were human, she might have cried, but as a wolf she did nothing more than tremble.

“He’s… surprisingly good.” A small smile lit Castiel’s face as he recalled cheerful grins, teasing words, and warm hands. “He probably saved my life, and then turned it into a joke.”

Mary sighed, almost a laugh. “Yes, that sounds like my son. Where is he?”

“I -” Castiel’s eyes dropped. “Sam’s looking for him.”

Before Mary could reply, tension crackled through the pack, and all heads turned to look over to where John had just arrived, standing frozen at the edge of the clearing. Castiel felt a surge of hot anger rushing through him when he stared back at the alpha wolf. Neither one moved.

John broke first, taking slow, careful steps through the clearing until he was standing directly in front of Castiel, then dropped his nose lightly to the crown of Castiel’s head.

“You saved one of our pups,” John said quietly, his breath huffing over Castiel’s hair, “the pack thanks you.”

“I would never let any member of the pack get hurt if I could help it,” Castiel told him curtly, pulling away from John’s friendly overtures.

“Castiel saw Dean down in the tunnels,” Mary told her mate carefully. John jerked back. His demeanor changed instantly.

“Where is he?” The alpha was all rage and protective instincts now.

“I don’t know,” Castiel growled.

“You’re lying,” John snarled, his lips beginning to curl up over his fangs. “Did Sam put you up this?”

“You  want Dean to be dead, don’t you,” Castiel accused. “It would make it so much easier for you, you could just go along as you always have been, stuck in your ways, wolves and Wyrms.”

“How dare you!” John was crouched, snarling, prepared to attack. Castiel narrowed his eyes and bared his own teeth. 

“I would never let any member of the pack get hurt if I could help it,” Castiel repeated, the weight of his words crashing into John.

“You are no alpha. You have no right to judge me.” John’s words were bitter, but his snarl was fading.

“I may not be alpha, but I know that I do not give up on someone I love, no matter how easy or logical it might be.” Castiel spit the words out without a second thought, then listened as they hung in the silent air.

“That’s enough,” Mary finally said, leaning into her mate’s side and licking his neck as his fur slowly flattened. Castiel’s rage lowered to a simmer, and Lisa placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. “We’d like to hear the whole story, please, Castiel,” Mary said, more order than request.

For the second time, Castiel found himself repeating the events of the last few days to a rapt audience. The pack made no pretense as they huddled close to catch every word. John growled every so often, and Mary kept her attention on the subtle shift of emotions that played over Castiel’s face. John shifted uncomfortably when Castiel described slicing his arm open to leave Dean a trail of blood, and Mary whined quietly when he explained about Sam chancing on him, alone and frozen in the night as he waited for Dean. John stalked away without another word when the tale was finished, but moments later two younger wolves slipped away into the forest, presumably following orders to find and assist Sam. Mary thanked Lisa for taking care of Castiel, exchanging a meaningful look; the two females seemingly communicating some deeper message despite their language barrier. 

“There must be a solution,” Castiel murmured when Mary settled in at his side, soaking in the afternoon sun, waiting for word from Sam or one of the other scouts.

“To what?”

“The Wyrms. They serve no purpose other than to kill or destroy everything they contact. And now this.”

Mary sighed. “The would have been destroyed long ago if it were that easy. Wolves can easily kill Wyrms when they come out in the open, as they must to cross the river, but underground, we cannot touch them. Even if we could get into their tunnels, the demons outnumber the pack.”

“Perhaps the solution is not the pack fighting,” Castiel pointed out, his brow furrowed in thought. 

A chorus of sharp barks alerted them to Sam’s arrival. The young wolf was panting, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, his eyes wide and wild. 

“Sam!” Mary rushed to her son’s side. John appeared, following his mate’s path, trying to hurry while still appearing dignified.

“Did you find him?” John demanded, worry outweighing the authority in his voice.

“Yes,” Sam panted, catching his father’s eye. “The Wyrms. They’re at the river.”

John barked and whirled sharply, the brush of his tail disappearing between the trees before anyone could even take a breath. It was a mad dash after the alpha male, and Castiel was left standing in front of the den, Lisa and Ben staring at him from across the clearing, bewildered. 

“Stay here,” Castiel told them, resigning himself to jogging after the pack towards the river.

When Castiel reached the Red Tree, there was shouting. All along the opposite bank, Wyrms were lined up, yelling in their unintelligible, grating language. John was yelling right back, backed up by a chorus of angry barks from the rest of the pack. Castiel’s attention was drawn to one thing: the broad-shouldered man pinned between two of the Wyrms, one arm crushed in the jaws of a Wyrm, one eye blackened and swollen. In the sunlight Castiel could see the freckles that painted Dean’s skin from a life lived outdoors. He could see the golden brown tint of his hair, the bulk of his firm muscles, the white of his teeth when he smiled. Even from this distance, Castiel could make out the brilliant green of his eyes. Dean had not made it out of the tunnels. Castiel’s plan had failed.

Castiel pushed his way through the bristling shoulders and bared teeth of the pack and settled himself a little ways behind Mary, who was just behind her angry mate. Dean’s eyes caught Castiel’s and his face lit up. He smiled sheepishly at him, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile back, even as tears prickled in his eyes, marveling at a man who could somehow smile while bruised, broken, captive, and surrounded by angry monsters. Mary followed her son’s gaze, glancing back at Castiel briefly. Castiel’s eyes never left Dean’s face. 

The wolves and the Wyrms continued to make noise. Castiel wasn’t sure if either side actually understood the other, but the anger and hate was palpable from both sides.  The river itself made a loud, low groaning noise, as if eager to join in the conflict taking place on its banks. There was a creaking and cracking that Castiel recognized from every spring as the ice began to thin and the rage of the waters below began to make themselves known. But neither the wolves nor the Wyrms had ever heard that sound before, because the river had never melted in this forest. All attention was suddenly drawn to the ice.

Silence fell as the river made its voice heard, and when Castiel looked up, the Wyrms had disappeared from their perch on the river’s edge, taking Dean with them. John was barking orders at the pack, and one by one the wolves drifted back into the forest. Castiel stayed still and silent, lost in his thoughts as he stared at the river. Castiel let his attention drift down the bank, noticing several more low holes, just above the river’s frozen water like the one he had crawled out of.

Soon, the pack was gone, and only John remained. Alone, the big wolf let his head drop and his ears droop, suddenly sagging with age and anxiety. He sighed and nosed at the snow near the river. Castiel shifted a little and John’s head snapped towards the sound. He hadn’t known Castiel was still here. Castiel stiffened for a fight, but John just looked at him sadly with his old eyes.

“You say you would never let a member of your pack get hurt if you could help it,” John said, his voice low. Castiel nodded. “What if you can’t help it?”

Castiel looked down, remembering Dean’s bleak conviction that John would not trade the forest’s safety for his life. “Don’t say that.”

“You think I abandoned Dean because I thought it was the easy thing to do? To make choices between the life of my son, and the lives of the entire forest and every living creature that relies on it? You think that is easy?”

Castiel was silent, staring at the river.

“I have been the guardian of this forest, and of this pack for as long as it has existed. I am old, the forest is old, and so much has changed. Even if we resolve this conflict with the Wyrms, it won’t be the last. The pack is no longer big enough to fight them off, if it comes down to that, and they are starting to realize that. The forest will die and there is nothing I can do to stop it.” John sounded bitter.

“You’re right,” Castiel said, and John glared, licking his lips distastefully. “Wolves cannot solve this problem. There is nothing that you can do with your fangs and claws. Nevertheless, we are going to save Dean, and the Wyrms will not destroy this forest.”

“What can you do about it? Just one small human.”

Castiel looked John in the eye and grinned, a ruthless, icy smile with too many teeth. John flattened his ears instinctively in the face of the predatory expression. 

“We are going to melt the river.”

~~

The first thing that Castiel did was to find Lisa and Ben. Mary accompanied them back from the den to the riverside.

“We need to build a fire on the river,” Castiel explained, “to melt the ice.”

“Fire. River.” Ben looked at him doubtfully. 

“Yes. To melt the ice,” Castiel repeated. Ben squinted, but gathered a handful of branches and carried them onto the ice, building a tiny pyre then waving to his mother, who struck the kindling alight with a flint from her pocket, looking baffled.

“There. Fire.” Ben huffed to Castiel. Lisa crouched down next to the tiny blaze, watching the ice beneath it grow slick and wet, threatening to drown the flames. Her eyes flicked up to the bank, then went wide.

“Oh!” Lisa exclaimed. “Melt the ice!” She pointed to the holes in the bank, her face alight with understanding. “Wyrms!”

Castiel nodded. Lisa smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean,” she said, quieter, and Castiel nodded again. 

“How can we help?” Mary asked, moving closer to the humans.

“You all really want to help do this,” Castiel said, swallowing hard. “It’s dangerous. It might not work.” 

“It is a good plan,” Mary said, “and our only plan.” Mary turned to look across the river, where her son was still held somewhere in the endless underground darkness. 

“We need help,” Castiel admitted. “It will take a large number of fires to thin the ice enough, and they will need to be constantly monitored as the ice melts and the water puts them out. Wolves cannot make fires.”

“We need other humans,” Mary nodded. 

“We’ll go,” Ben announced, pointing to himself and Lisa. “We’ll get help.” Lisa beamed her agreement.

“A wolf can run faster,” Mary said, looking back at Castiel. “But the humans may not listen to us.”

Castiel considered. “Would any wolves be willing to carry them?”

“Perhaps,” the alpha admitted, measuring the size of the humans to the members of her pack.

Sam volunteered himself, and soon Lisa was sitting astride the tall wolf, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the position. Ben was clinging to the back of Ellen, the mother of the audacious pup that Castiel pulled from the brink of the hole that swallowed him and carried him to Dean. The wolves and their passengers dashed into the forest, Ben letting out a shout of enthusiasm.

Castiel looked after them for a moment, then turned to throw another branch on the growing fire that was steadily turning the ice beneath it slick as the water returned to its liquid state. He watched the yellow flicker and the thin trail of smoke disappear up into the grey sky.

“It is warm.” John sounded fascinated. Castiel wasn’t sure if he had been watching this whole time, or if he had left and only now returned. The wolf sat next to Castiel and poked his nose at the fire, sneezing when it popped and sent a flurry of sparks and smoke up his nostrils. “I always thought that the humans’ fires would destroy the forest, just like the Wyrms.”

Castiel looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“Fire is dangerous,” Castiel admitted, “but humans would never destroy the forest.”

“You say that because you are human.”

“I say it because it’s true. These trees are their shelter, their food, their warmth, as much as yours, and maybe even more so. Humans have no fur to keep warm, or fangs to defend themselves, or noses to hunt with. They have to rely on the tools they get from the forest to survive.”

“If you asked me a week ago, I would have told you that anything that can’t survive in the winter forest doesn’t deserve to live.”

“And now?”

John was silent.

“It’s not shameful to ask for help,” Castiel said, “or to change your opinions.” John looked away, and stood to walk slowly back towards the trees.

“I will have the pack bring wood for your fires,” John called over his shoulder.

~~

When the ice melted, the rising water would flood the tunnels along the bank of the river. Dean could follow the trail of water, as he had planned to follow Castiel’s blood, or he could follow the Wyrms as they inevitably climbed out of the tunnels to escape the icy deluge. A human could cross the river on any last vestiges of the ice, or they could fell a small tree for Dean to climb over, or he could even swim if it came down to desperate measures. The Wyrms never could - they were too heavy and dense with their bellies filled with rock. They would sink to the bottom and be washed away by the currents immediately. The tunnels would eventually flood completely and become uninhabitable. Any Wyrms that escaped would be easy to finish off.

That was the plan that had both wolves and humans gathered at the banks of the river. The humans had started appearing in the pre-dawn dark of the second day, in ones and twos, sometimes in small families. Thanks to Lisa and Ben, they seemed to know what they were there for, and most walked right out onto the ice to build towers of wood.

They approached Castiel, who was standing near the first fire that Ben built. Every human expressed the same thing: hatred for the Wyrms and love for Dean. The Wyrms had been destroying their gardens and preventing the humans from sustaining any meaningful crop for generations, and now were threatening their forest, their homes. Castiel already knew why they loved Dean. None of them spoke the same language, but they all seemed to understand each other, united by purpose. The humans nodded at Castiel, and they lit branches from his blaze to carry to their own fires.

The orange glows began to spread up and down the river. Sometimes the fires would sputter out as the melting ice overwhelmed the flames, but a new one would be built quickly to replace it. Castiel carefully kept the first fire burning hot and bright.

The pack ran like a well-oiled machine among the disorganized humans, bringing wood for the fires, speaking quiet words, seeing that the fires were evenly spaced. When two member of the pack brought food - enough for humans and wolves alike - the humans looked at their canine companions with reverence and delight.

Castiel watched with awe as the humans began to use words that the wolves spoke to them to speak to each other. It was like – no, it  was  – a civilization being born. Human and wolves working together. Just as Castiel had always known. Some humans even approached Mary cautiously to ask quietly about Dean, their worried tone and compassionate eyes saying what they couldn’t express in words to the mother wolf. Mary nodded at each graciously, and Castiel could see she was truly touched.

John stayed away, and the humans stayed away from John. He was a massive presence planted beside the Red Tree, rarely moving, simply observing. As noon passed and most of the pack - humans and wolves - were busy eating, Castiel left his post near the fire to approach John. The wolf was watching the crowd, expressionless. He focused his attention on Castiel when he drew closer.

“Nothing is happening,” he accused.

“The ice is thick and this river is very large,” Castiel snapped back with a glare. John stared at his and almost smiled.

“No alpha has ever challenged me,” the wolf said thoughtfully, staring back towards the fires. “I have always controlled the fate of the pack, the fate of the forest. Until you.”

“I’m no alpha,” Castiel said quickly, backing away a little, remembering Sam’s warning about picking fights and Dean’s teasing about his alpha posturing. He hoped that this wasn’t a sign that John would try and fight him, like a wolf, for dominance.

“You hunt your way through the forest like you belong here, you fight with Wyrms and even kill them, you defend the pack with your life, you chose this course of action for the pack to take, and you have even taken command of the humans, even formed a human pack.”

Castiel gaped at him.

“I didn’t -” Castiel tried to say, his throat dry.

“I told you that I am old and that the world is changing around me. You told me that it is not shameful to ask for help.” John looked down at him. Castiel ducked his head down, squaring his shoulders and laying a hand against John’s shoulder.

“You are Alpha, and you always will be.”

“We shall give you another name,” John offered, grinning now. “Wyrm-Slayer? Warrior?”

“That’s what Dean called me,” Castiel laughed. John’s eyes were warm as he watched his bright smile flash across Castiel’s face. A movement across the river caught his eye and John leapt to his feet. Castiel whirled to look.

Dean.

Dean was wriggling his way out of one of the holes on the bank, his blackened eye nearly swollen shut and one arm cradled uselessly against his chest. Before the man could even pull himself free from his underground prison, a Wyrm was scuttling down the cliff face to place itself between Dean and his freedom. The Wyrm inched back onto the ice and Castiel held his breath. The ice groaned, and a crack formed under the Wyrm’s weight, the split in the ice snaking across the river, but not quite enough to break open.

Castiel reached into his coat as he ran, grabbing the knife he had returned there and gripping it tight as he threw himself onto the ice. He wasn’t sure what he planned to do, if he was going to try and kill this Wyrm the way he had stabbed the ones back in the tunnel. The ice shifted under his feet. The ice was cracking, thinned by the fires and the rush of water, spider webs of lines spreading out underneath the Wyrm’s massive weight. It just needed a little more and the Wyrm would be lost under the water.

Castiel fisted the knife in his hand, dropped to his knees, and plunged the blade into the biggest crack he could find, feeling the blade sink through the frozen water to the liquid beneath. Hazily he recognized the spot where his shoulder had hit the ice that first day when he fell off the bridge, a lifetime ago. He twisted the knife, easing the crack wider, and suddenly he could hear the rush of water. Castiel trembled, lifting his fist again, and bringing it crashing back down with all the force he could muster, and the resulting noise was almost deafening.

The ice broke open and water rushed up. The Wyrm sank like the stones that filled its belly, pulled away instantly under the water. There were shouts and barks behind him, but Castiel could only focus on the man in front of him, staring at the roiling river suddenly visible in small patch where the Wyrm had fallen through. Chunks of ice were breaking off and crashing into each other, with each blow widening the cracks in the once solid coating. The ice was groaning and creaking under Castiel’s feet and it wouldn’t hold up much longer.

“Dean!” Castiel shouted, waving at him. The voice seemed to shake Dean out of his stupor, and he moved away from the thinned ice around the edge of the hole so he could cross the river. He was moving slowly, and Castiel wondered if maybe one of his legs was hurt, as well as his arm. Dean ventured out onto the ice, which popped and creaked under his weight. Castiel could see webs of cracks spreading out from each step and when Castiel looked down, he could see the same was happening underneath him. Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s and there was terror in their green depths. Castiel took a step forward, holding a hand out to Dean, and smiled.

He didn’t see the Wyrm. It came barreling out of the hole in the bank, a line of fury heading straight for Dean. There was no time to get out of the way, no way to fight it.

The ice shook like an earthquake as something huge pounded across from the other side in a blur of red and grey. The ice broke open under John’s feet as he slammed the Wyrm out of the path of his son, catching the monster in his snarling jaws. Castiel scrambled the last few steps forward and caught onto Dean’s arm as the wolf and the Wyrm were dragged under the frothing rapids.

“NO!” Dean screamed, trying to pull his arm out of Castiel’s grip, lunging towards the water. Castiel tightened his grip as Dean slipped across the slick surface, the ice cracking perilously. The river was continuing to melt, large chunks of ice breaking off and floating down river; there was no stopping it now.

“He saved you,” Castiel snarled at the struggling man as he clamped his hand down on Dean’s shoulder and pulled him bodily away from the ragged edge of ice. “Don’t let it be for nothing!”

Castiel had to drag Dean back to the bank of the river. Mary was on him in a moment, sniffing her son up and down, licking the tears off his face, and every once in a while turning her head to glance at the river as if expecting her mate to crawl out of the raging torrent. Castiel collapsed in a heap and watched the river slowly turn from solid to liquid. Just as he thought, as the ice melted, the level of the water rose and flooded the low holes in the bank. It was over.

Castiel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was commotion going on around him, but it seemed distant, disconnected. His tired mind drifted.

Once upon a time, he recited the familiar old words to himself, there was a forest where it was always winter, until one day a Warrior came, and broke the ice to bring the spring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm conflicted on how I feel about John, both in canon and in this fic. I think it shows.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://jailikechai.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More puns ahead! I wrote this chapter, then when I went back to edit it somehow ended up with 1000 more words, almost entirely awful puns.
> 
> All my thanks to you for taking the time to read this odd little story. This story has been stewing in my brain for a long time, and has undergone many transformations before turning into what you read. 
> 
> Visit me on [tumblr](http://jailikechai.tumblr.com/) so I can express my undying love for you.

“Wow. Were your eyes always that blue?”

Castiel was watching Sam organize a small band of wolves to go after any Wyrms that had escaped the flood, when a warm body dropped to the ground next to him. He looked over to see Dean studying his face carefully.

“I don’t believe my eye color has changed recently,” Castiel responded.

“Sorry. It’s just that it was dark down there, and you couldn’t really see, and your eyes are  really blue,” Dean cut off his own babbling. “Wait. Was that a joke?”

Castiel looked down at his lap and smiled. Dean chuckled and shifted a little closer.

“I’ll make a comedian out of you yet,” Dean promised. They sat side by side for a long moment, shoulders almost brushing, watching the breaking ice.

“I’m sorry that my plan didn’t work,” Castiel finally whispered roughly. 

“Cas, it’s not your fault. I was a dumbass, and you - you saved my life. Again. And not only my life, I mean, look at this,” Dean made a sweeping gesture, indicating the swollen, angry river, the commotion of humans and wolves mingling along the bank. He shook his head slowly, solemn with sincere amazement. “You’re incredible, Cas.”

“I -”

“Don’t give me that ‘I was only doing what was necessary’ crap,” Dean interrupted before Castiel could say another word. Castiel looked up at him, studying the lines and whorls of color in Dean’s eyes, the curl of his long lashes.

“I was keeping my promise,” Castiel told him. “I would never leave you.”

Dean swallowed, looking back. Castiel held his breath.

“Dean!” A small figure barreled into Dean’s back, knocking him forward with an ‘oomph’.

“Hey, kid,” Dean pulled Ben around for a one-armed hug. Ben wrapped his arms around the man and buried his face in Dean’s neck. 

“You’re ok,” Ben mumbled. Dean chuckled and patted his back.

“Yep. Thanks to Cas, here.”

Dean awkwardly struggled to his feet.

“Is your arm alright?” Castiel gasped when Dean groaned as his injured arm was jostled by the movement.

“Hey, you got a concussion and a busted shoulder, I didn’t want to be left off the injured list. Think it’s broken,” Dean grimaced, tucking the arm in question to his chest in time to be ambushed for another embrace by a tearful Lisa. Dean wrapped his uninjured arm around the woman with a bright smile.

“You’re ok,” Lisa choked out, mirroring her son’s words. Dean laughed.

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Dean leaned his cheek onto the top of Lisa’s head. “Mom said you were a big help in the master plan.”

Lisa sniffed. Castiel watched the man, woman and child wrapped around each other, exchanging quiet words until his chest felt squeezed too tight and he looked away. He caught sight of Mary, sitting alone a little ways down the bank, staring morosely at the swirling water in front of her. Castiel spared a brief glance towards Dean, who was holding his broken arm out for Lisa’s inspection, then stood and walked over to stand at Mary’s side. Castiel laid his hand over the wolf’s shoulder.

“You were right,” Mary said after a moment of silence. “The solution was not the pack fighting.”

“That doesn’t mean your mate was wrong,” Castiel said.

“None of us could have imagined this,” Mary dropped her nose, nearly dipping beneath the water. She sighed. “The world was changing around us, but we were being left behind. Only you saw a different path for us.”

“That’s not why I did this,” Castiel replied, looking down. Mary leaned against him, a solid, grounding presence at his side.

“I know.” The wolf looked up. “So what are you going to do now, young warrior? Will you return to your pack?” 

Mary’s eyes flickered towards movement behind him, but Castiel kept his eyes on the swift flowing water.  He thought about Michael, and Gabriel, and Balthazar, and Anna. He thought about the town, and long, silent days alone in the forest. The warmth of a body moving closer prickled against Castiel’s skin.

“Cas?”

Castiel’s head shot up, his eyes meeting Dean’s. The other man’s face was filled with worry and fear. Everything in Castiel melted in a moment. 

“You - uh - you really planning on going back?” Dean’s voice was flat to hide what would have been a tremble. 

“What did I just tell you?” Castiel stepped forward, until he was just inches from Dean, never breaking their gaze. “I would never leave you.”

Dean surged forward and crashed his lips into Castiel’s. One hand wrapped around the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, holding him in place. Castiel sighed happily, and he wrapped his arms loosely around Dean, careful of his broken arm, as he pressed back into the kiss. Dean broke off before the kiss could go too far, but did not move away.

“We’re your pack, now,” Dean breathed, his lips brushing against Castiel’s, moistening them with the warmth of his breath. Castiel leaned forward to press his lips against Dean’s again, but Dean broke away after only a breath.

“I think we make a great pear,” Dean said, before Castiel attacked his lips again.

“You know, like the fruit?” Dean continued, followed by another brief meeting of lips.

“Enough puns, Dean,” Castiel mumbled, unable to stop himself from stealing another kiss.

“You love it,” Dean grinned. Castiel only responded by tugging him into a deeper kiss.

~~

Castiel slept.

Lisa had carefully wrapped Dean’s broken arm in a splint improvised from wooden branches and strips of cloth, while casting pleased, knowing glances at Castiel as he hovered over the process. Sam had returned to report that they had killed the few demons that were wandering over the waste after escaping from the tunnels, and that a few wolves remained prowling the river bank, watching for any stragglers. Mary had led a fading Dean and Castiel through the forest back to the den. Dean had tugged Castiel into the small nest in the den, wrapped his arms around him, and promptly fell asleep. Castiel had smiled, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.

Castiel slept for a long time, a week of falling, and fighting, and interactions, and injures catching up to him. It was a deep, dreamless, restorative sleep, soothing over the scars in his body and mind. Castiel didn’t wake when Dean crawled out of the nest to eat and stretch, and didn’t wake when Dean curled up beside him again. He slept and slept, finally at peace.

Castiel woke slowly, warm and surrounded by the comfortable smell of pine and wolves. Sleepily, he wondered if he fell asleep in the den again. He had had the most amazing dream about the ancient winter forest, and wolves, and Wyrms, and a man with the greenest eyes, and the most terrible jokes, and the warmest smile. He didn’t want to open his eyes, to wake from the memory of being safe and accepted and maybe even - loved - only to find himself alone. He rolled over trying to get comfortable so he could slip back into blissful unconsciousness.

“Ow.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open.

“My arm’s still broken, dude,” Dean said, lazily lifting one eyelid to glare at Castiel. Castiel’s eyes went wide, a smile growing slowly across his face.

“You’re not a dream,” Castiel’s voice was gravelly with sleep.

“Um, no?” Dean opened both eyes now, frowning at Castiel.

“Oh, ok.” Castiel snuggled up to Dean’s chest, being extra cautious about the splinted arm, wrapping both arms around Dean’s waist and clutching him tightly. He breathed in the wonderful scent of pine and wolves and Dean. “Good.”

Dean chuckled and ran his fingers lightly through Castiel’s hair.

“You planning on waking up for real any time soon?” Dean asked, twisting a strand of dark hair around his finger.

“No. Go back to sleep,” Castiel ordered. 

“You’ve been asleep for a whole day.”

“I am very comfortable here.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Stop trying to tempt me.”

“Do you want me to prove exactly how not-a-dream I am?” Dean growled suggestively in Castiel’s ear. Castiel’s eyes flew open, and he stared at Dean from an inch away. Dean laughed. “Wow, you’re easy.”

Castiel glowered. “I believe the demons rubbed off on you, you were down there so long,” he huffed.

“Oo, low blow. You’re lucky you’re gorgeous.” 

“I’m what?” Castiel blinked, surprise causing the words to tumble from his lips before he could stop them.

“Oh, I guess you must have been sleeping when I told you the first time,” Dean teased. He pressed a kiss to Castiel’s forehead when Castiel glared. “I mean, I thought you were pretty attractive in the dark when I couldn’t see you, but I had no idea that my guardian angel would turn out to look like an actual angel.”

Castiel flushed red and he squirmed. “Oh. I think you’re very attractive as well.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing he’s pretty, otherwise he’d have to rely on his sense of humor,” Sam’s voice called from the front of the den. “Is it safe to come back there?”

“I also like that I can see you blush now,” Dean said quietly, running his eyes over Castiel’s face. If anything, Castiel’s blush deepened. Dean grinned. He kept his eyes glued to Castiel’s as he called back to Sam, “Yeah, Sammy. Come help me get this lazy piece of ass on his feet. And stop trash talking my jokes.”

“I’ll laugh the minute your jokes start to be funny.” 

“My jokes are awesome. Cas thinks so.” Dean rolled over and used his good arm to push himself up. Castiel growled at the loss of heat by his side. Sam shook his head.

“I might have to rethink my opinion of Castiel as a badass.” 

“Shut up. Cas just survived death-defying falls, an army of monster Wyrms, blood loss, multiple injuries, a whole river, and fucking time-travel or something,” Dean bragged.

“Yeah, and your jokes.”

“I am still right here,” Castiel grumbled. 

“Mom said to bite you if you insist on sleeping any longer,” Sam offered cheerfully. Castiel glared at the wolf looming over him. Sam grinned, baring rows of gleaming, sharp fangs, and Castiel let Dean pull him onto his feet. 

Exiting the cave, Castiel discovered that it was already close to noon, the sun high in the sky. When she saw him, Mary congratulated Sam on finally getting Castiel to leave the nest, ordered Dean to feed him, and commanded Sam to follow her as she departed into the forest. Castiel spend a dazed moment trying to catch up with the vibrant mother wolf’s demands. Dean laughed and assured him that he’d get used to it. Castiel was pleased with that thought.

They spent a lazy few hours together, eating and walking, Castiel grudgingly admitting that he needed to stretch his legs after his time curled up asleep. Dean’s ankle was sprained, not badly, but enough that they had to walk slow and rest often. The area around the den was strangely deserted, and Dean couldn’t answer when Castiel asked where the wolves were.

Eventually they ended up beside the Red Tree, overlooking the river that now flowed steadily past. Dean carefully lowered himself to sit, bracing himself on Castiel’s arm, and leaning back against the trunk of the tree with a sigh. Castiel dropped to the ground next to him.

“How’s your arm?” Castiel asked. 

Dean grimaced. “It’ll heal eventually, I guess. Your shoulder feel ok?”

Castiel hummed an affirmative. Dean tugged at him, repositioning so Castiel was lying on his back, his head cradled in Dean’s lap. Castiel looked up, mapping the constellations of Dean’s freckles with his eyes.

“This is much better without a concussion,” Castiel commented. Dean smiled.

“Agreed. No more concussions for you.”

Castiel smiled. His gaze slipped from Dean’s face to the branches of the tree spreading out above them. Suddenly he gasped and sat up, narrowly missing Dean’s chin with his forehead, eyes fixed on a point above him. Dean jerked back, panicked.

“What! What’s wrong!”

Castiel pointed with one shaking hand. “Look!”

The thin branch he pointed to was tipped in tiny, tender reddish-green buds. 

“What?”

“They’re leaves,” Castiel breathed, eyes wide with awe. Dean frowned.

“I’m pretty sure those aren’t leaves.”

“They will be.” They would become the first leaves the tree would ever bear. Dean watched Castiel watch the tree, his eyes soft. Dean tugged him in, tucking him under his good arm, and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Well, I can’t wait to see, then,” Dean murmured, much more invested in Castiel’s reaction than the tree itself. Castiel leaned against him, still smiling up at the tree.

“How are you?” Castiel asked, after a moment, quieter. Dean’s eyes dropped to the rushing water.

“I’ll heal eventually, I guess.”  

Castiel looked over at him. He saw that Dean’s arm was broken, his ankle twisted, his face bruised. But he also saw that Dean was quieter, his eyes a little less bright than before. Castiel knew what that pain looked like.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

Dean was quiet, watching the water.

“It’s not your fault,” Castiel said, watching Dean. Dean said nothing, but his lips curved into a faint smile and he snorted quietly. Castiel laid his head on Dean’s shoulder and joined him in gazing at the river.

“I’ve never seen so much water before,” Dean said after a moment, watching the water race by. “I had no idea this is what the river would be like underneath the ice.”

“Things are always different under the surface, I guess,” Castiel contemplated.

“Like a man who mercilessly kills monsters, but then giggles at stupid puns?” Dean teased.

“I do not giggle,” Castiel defended, scowling at him.

“Whatever you say. Someday you’ll have to admit you’re just acorn-y person.”

“Stop that.”

“I’ve been thinking about branching out. I know the puns are growing on you.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You want me to leaf you alone?”

“Dean…” Castiel warned with a smile. Dean was grinning at his shamelessly.

“Hey guys,” a loud voice called from behind them. Castiel jumped, heart pounding, glaring back at Sam, who had appeared behind them.

“Sorry, Sam, guess we didn’t cedar yew there,” Dean laughed.

Castiel groaned.

“Hey, be re-leafed it’s just Sam!”

Castiel gave up and laughed. Sam looked between the two humans, shaking his head, clueless. Wolves didn’t appreciate puns.

“You have no idea how great it is to have someone actually laugh at those,” Dean chuckled. “I told you, Sammy! Comedy gold!”

“Sure, Dean, whatever you say.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam plopped down next to Dean, his tail waving slightly. “So, good news is that no one has seen any Wyrms after that first day. Looks like they’re gone for good. The humans are talking about wanting to get across the river so they can plant their vegetables.” Sam’s nose wrinkled at the thought of eating plants, and Castiel was amused to see the expression mirrored on Dean’s face. Castiel looked thoughtfully at the Red Tree.

“We’ll have to build a bridge.” 

Sam did a wolf-ish approximation of a shrug. “Guess so. Anyway, came to tell you that Lisa is looking for you.”

“What for?” Dean frowned.

“Not you. Castiel.” 

Castiel was just as puzzled. He sighed and hauled himself off the ground, dusting snow off of his legs before leaning down to offer a hand to Dean.

“I just sat down,” Dean whined. Castiel lifted an eyebrow.

“You can stay here, if you want. Sam will help you back to the den.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Where can we find her?” Castiel asked Sam. Sam stared at him blankly for a moment, then his lips pulled back in a sudden, toothy smile.

“You guys haven’t seen yet, huh?” 

Castiel and Dean both just looked at him, puzzled. Sam leapt to his feet, his tail wagging furiously now.

“This way.” Sam trotted down the bank of the river.

A bustle of activity greeted them just as the river curved. 

Most of the humans who had responded to Lisa and Ben’s call for help had stayed, and a few more stragglers from around the forest had made their way here as well. Now they were hard at work creating a community. Some were constructing shelters, bent-branch houses like the one Lisa and Ben lived in, some were preparing food, or chopping wood, or crafting useful items like baskets or pottery. Several small children chased each other around the legs of adults, causing a mix of amused smiles and irritable curses in their wake.

The wolves were here, watching with interest as humans completed tasks with nimble fingers that a wolf could never even dream of. A few wolves seemed to be organizing a small hunting party of both wolves and humans, and others were engaged in teaching the humans the wolf language.

Humans and wolves alike stopped as Dean, Castiel, and Sam entered the settlement. They were suddenly surrounded by a crowd of smiling faces, offering them handshakes, and hugs, and pats on the back. Dean grinned dazedly, greeting the people he knew warmly, and listening closely when strangers told him their names. Castiel tentatively responded to the outpouring of acceptance and admiration, staying close to Dean and offering timid smiles and nods. The flood of greeting washed over them quickly, everyone returning to their tasks, leaving Dean and Castiel staring at each other with matching stunned expressions.

“This is…” Dean stammered.

“Yes.” Castiel said simply, leaning closer. Sam watched them delightedly.

“It’s great, huh?” 

Castiel smiled as Dean threaded their fingers together and held his hand tightly as they began to wander slowly through the camp. Sam wandered off to listen to the language lesson being taught by a slender female wolf with a golden tint to her red fur. Dean examined the progress on a new shelter curiously, stopping to watch a man wearing a ratty coonskin cap braid rope from fibers of tree bark. The older man glared at Dean and huffed grumpily, then abruptly thrust a bundle of the bark fibers into the flustered man’s hands, gesturing him to sit and copy. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, but he obediently dropped down next to the man with a grin, his eyes bright and fascinated as he watched the deft movements of the other man’s hands. Castiel smiled at the sight. 

“Castiel,” Mary’s voice called softly, and Castiel saw her standing next to Lisa beside a half-finished house a few yards away.

“Warrior,” Lisa said, pulling Castiel into an embrace, which Castiel returned. 

“My name is Castiel,” he corrected as they broke the embrace. Mary laughed.

“You’re already something of a legend around here, Castiel. The Wyrm-slayer. The Ice-breaker. The Warrior.”

Castiel flushed and shook his head. “I am not. I am just… me.”

“And we are very happy to have you.” Mary’s yellow eyes were warm and sincere, and Castiel smiled.

Lisa reached forward held something out between them. “We found this by the river.”

Lisa was holding a knife. Castiel’s knife. He must have dropped it that day, he didn’t remember, pulling Dean out of the breaking river had been the only thought in his mind. The river must have washed it back to shore. 

Lisa pushed the knife towards him. “You need this.”

Castiel shook his head. He pushed Lisa’s hand away gently.

“I don’t need it anymore. Thank you.” Castiel looked around at the mingling of humans and wolves. He looked at Dean, who was leaning towards the man trying to teach him and saying something, probably a joke judging from the expression he received in return. “I have no desire to take part in any more fighting.”

Lin threw him a puzzled frown, but tucked the knife away out of sight. Castiel’s attention drifted to Ben, who was sitting in front of a small crowd of slightly smaller children, telling a story. Ben punctuated his steady stream of words with wild hand waving and an occasional sound effect. Castiel’s ears caught the word “Warrior” and he realized with a shock that Ben was telling his story, the story of what happened on the river the day the ice broke.

Castiel stood frozen, listening to the story play out. It ended in a kiss. He looked over at Dean, the man he saved, and wondered what happened next in their story. There was so much to do, so much to hope for. Castiel remembered the buds on the Red Tree, and knew that whatever was to come would start with a word that had never existed before Castiel came to break the ice: Spring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after.
> 
>  
> 
> The end.


End file.
